GfieTHIRTEENTH 
COMMANDMENT 


THE    THIRTEENTH 
COMMANDMENT 


BOOKS  BY 
RUPERT   HUGHES 

THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Illustrated.     Post  Svo 

CLIPPED   WINGS.     Frontispiece.     Post  Svo 

WHAT  WILL  PEOPLE   SAY? 

Illustrated.     Post  Svo 

THE  LAST  ROSE   OF  SUMMER. 

Frontispiece,     liinio 

EMPTY  POCKETS.     Illustrated.     Post  Svo 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 


[See  p.  313 

"  T    COULDN'T  help  hearing  what  you  were  saying. 
1  You  needn't  be  downhearted,  though,  for  I've  just 
thought  of  a  way  to  help  daddy  out." 


THE  THIRTEENTH 
COMMANDMENT 

A   NOVEL 


BY 

RUPERT  HUGHES 

AUTHOR  OF 

What  Will  People  Say? 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
JAMES  MONTGOMERY   FLAGG 


HARPER   &  BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 


Copyright,  1915,  1916,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  July.  1916 

H-Q 


FROM  THE   DEPTHS 

OF 

GRATITUDE   AND   DEVOTION 
TO 

RAY  LONG 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"I  COULDN'T  HELP  HEARING  WHAT  You  WERE  SAYING. 
You  NEEDN'T  BE  DOWNHEARTED,  THOUGH,  FOR 
I'VE  JUST  THOUGHT  OF  A  WAY  TO  HELP  DADDY 

OUT "         Frontispiece 

ALREADY  WIMBURN  WAS  A  MEMBER  OF  THE  HOUSE- 
HOLD; HE  HAD  BEEN  KlSSED  AND  SYMPATHIZED 

WITH.    HE  DID  NOT  CARE  WHETHER  THE  HOUSE 
WERE  ARTISTIC  OR  NOT,  OR  THE  PEOPLE  RICH  OR 

POOR          Page  8 

THE  REHEARSAL  BLUNDERED  ON.  MRS.  KEMBLE 
TRIED  TO  HELP.  SHE  ASKED  DAPHNE  TO  STEP 
ASIDE  AND  WATCH  WHILE  SHE  WENT  THROUGH  THE 
SCENE.  BUT  SHE  WAS  So  UNNERVED  THAT  SHE 
FORGOT  HER  OWN  LINES  AND  HAD  TO  REFER  TO 
THE  MANUSCRIPT,  WHILE  ELDON  WAITED  IN  ACUTE 
DISTRESS  AND  DAPHNE,  LOOKING  ON,  SAID:  "On, 
I  SEE.  I  THINK  I  UNDERSTAND  IT  Now"  .  .  "  176 

SHE  WONDERED  WHY  SHE  HAD  ENTERED  UPON  THIS 
UNNATURAL  LIFE.  IF  SHE  HAD  SOUGHT  ADMIRA- 
TION AND  FAME  SHE  HAD  NOT  FOUND  THEM,  FOR 
SHE  SAT  ALONE  IN  AN  ISOLATED  WINDOW  ...  "  195 

DAPHNE  SAID,  LOOKING  AT  His  IMAGE,  "YOU'RE 
MIGHTY  HANDSOME."  CLAY  SAID,  "YOU'RE  A 
RAVING  BEAUTY,  AND  I  ADORE  You."  THEY 
KISSED  EACH  OTHER  AND  WATCHED  THE  MIRROR'S 
MIMICRY "  272 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Mr  RINGS!"  LEILA  CRIED.  "DON'T  You  SEE!  MY 
DIAMONDS  AND  RUBIES!  AND  I'VE  GOT  A  NECK- 
LACE OR  Two,  AND  SOME  CHAINS  AND  BROOCHES. 
THEY'RE  WORTH  A  LOT  OF  MONEY.  AND  YOU'RE 
WELCOME  TO  'EM,  DADDY" Page  304 

LEILA  FELT  A  RAPTUROUS  DESIRE  TO  Kiss  HIM  AND 
CALL  HIM  NAMES  OF  GRATITUDE.  DAPHNE  SAT 
THINKING,  BUT  NOT  OF  CLOTHES.  SHE  WAS 
STUDYING  THE  MODELS  AS  THEY  LOUNGED  ABOUT 
THE  SHOP.  SUDDENLY  SHE  SPOKE.  "On,  MR. 
DUTILH,  How  MUCH  MONEY  DOES  A  MODEL 
EARN?" .  "  336 

CENTURIES  OF  PRIMEVAL  PASSIONS  WERE  BATTLING  IN 
THESE  THREE  PEOPLE,  AND  A  FEW  YEARS  OF 
ETIQUETTE  WERE  HOLDING  THEM  DOWN  ...  "  387 

WETHERELL  CRIED:  "Low  BRIDGE!  DUCK  PRETTY 
HEADS,  EV'BODY.  WHOOPEE!"  DAPHNE  AND 
LEILA  CLUNG  TO  EACH  OTHER,  AND  STARED  INTO 
THE  BLINDING  HEADLIGHT  OF  A  LOCOMOTIVE  .  .  "  496 

HE  ALSO  WAS  MUTELY  BEGGING  TO  BE  FELT  SORRY 
FOR.  DAPHNE'S  HEART  ACHED  OUT  TO  HIM. 
SHE  COULD  THINK  OF  NOTHING  so  COMFORTING 
JUST  Now  AS  A  HEARTY,  REASSURING  LIE.  SHE 
WHISPERED:  "IT'S  ALL  MY  FAULT,  HONEY"  .  .  "  528 

THE  BLOW  SENT  ITS  VICTIM  STAGGERING  BACKWARD 

CLEAR  ACROSS  THE  WALK  INTO  A  LAMP-POST  .  .  "  552 


f\ 


THE    THIRTEENTH 
COMMANDMENT 


CHAPTER  I 

A5  usual,  nowadays,  instead  of  knocking  at  the  door, 
Fate  called  up  on  the  telephone. 

Though  the  bell  shrilled  almost  in  Mrs.  Kip's  ear,  she 
would  not  answer  it.  She  winced,  shook  her  head,  agi- 
tated her  rocking-chair  with  petulance,  embroidered 
vindictively,  and  hardly  so  much  called  out  as  sighed  very 
loudly  toward  the  hallway. 

"Daphne!    O-oh,  Daphne!  the  telephone  again !" 

The  telephone  was  usually  for  Daphne  again. 

From  somewhere  aloft  came  a  seraphic  answer:  "I 
hear  it!  I'm  coming!" 

On  the  stairs  there  sounded  a  muffled  scurry  like  the 
rush  of  an  April  shower  chased  down  a  hillside  by  the 
sun.  An  allegory  of  April  darted  across  the  room  and 
raised  the  telephone  to  her  lips  as  if  it  were  a  beaker  of 
good  cheer.  She  had  not  the  faintest  idea  who  was  at 
the  other  end  of  the  line,  but  her  character  and  her  mood 
were  revealed  in  the  cordiality  of  her  glad  "Hello!" 

It  was  Youth  in  the  spring  crying  out  Hello  to  the  world. 

Her  mother  was  used  to  this  humor  of  Daphne's,  and  paid 
no  heed  till  a  sudden  frost  chilled  the  warm  tone  of  the 
girl's  voice.  The  smile  of  hospitality  wasted  on  the 
telephone  had  given  place  to  a  look  of  embarrassment. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Mrs.  Kip  whispered,  anxiously,  "Who  is  it?" 

Daphne  motioned  her  not  to  interrupt,  and  her  voice 
grew  deep  and  important.  It  became  what  her  brother 
Bayard  called  her  "reception  voice."  In  her  grandest 
contralto  she  said: 

"This  is  Miss  Kip.  Yes,  I  have.  Yes,  he  does.  I  beg 
pardon  ?  Oh  ? — Oh !  Oh ! !  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Wmbwm. ' ' 

"Mr.  Who?"  her  mother  keened.  Daphne  frowned 
her  down  and  listened  violently,  breaking  in  now  and  then 
with  a  maddening  inconsequence: 

"Oh,  he  did!  You  don't  mean  it!  Fine!  Disgusting! 
Splendid!  Not  at  all!  Indeed,  yes!  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry! 
Delighted!  I  couldn't  think  of  it !  By  all  means!" 

This  was  interspersed  with  assorted  giggles,  sighs, 
polite  poutings,  and  increasingly  friendly  smiles.  Har- 
rowed by  her  curiosity,  Mrs.  Kip  hung  with  her  rocker 
poised  on  its  tiptoes,  and  nagged  at  her  daughter: 

"Who  is  it?    What  is  it?    Why  don't  you  tell  me?" 

Daphne  whispered  to  quiet  her,  "A  young  man  from 
New  York — friend  of  Bayard's — same  office.  I  haven't 
got  his  name  yet." 

Into  the  telephone  she  was  saying,  and  bowing  and 
nodding  the  while  with  her  politest  face,  "Indeed  I'll  try 
to  be.  Of  course  Cleveland's  not  New  York,  but —  By 
the  way,  do  you  dance?  That's  good.  That's  right; 
might  as  well  be  dead  if  you  don't!  How  long  will  you 
be  in  Cleveland?  Oh,  is  that  all?  Well,  then,  you  must 
come  out  here  and  have  tea  with  us  this  very  afternoon." 

At  that  Mrs.  Kip  went  backward  till  the  rocking-chair 
stood  on  its  hind  legs.  Tea  was  not  quotidian  in  her 
household.  Tea  was  a  party.  She  wigwagged  negatives 
to  Daphne,  but  Daphne  perfected  her  invitation  blandly: 

"Mother  says  you  just  must.  She's  so  anxious  to  hear 
about  Bayard.  He's  one  of  those  awfully  loving  sons 
that  never  write  or  come  home.  No,  no,  don't  try  to  take 
a  cab;  it  costs  a  fortune.  But  the  trolley  takes  a  week. 
I'll  call  for  you  at  the  hotel  in  my  little  car.  No,  it's  not 

2 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

one  of  those;  it's  an  electric.  I  run  it  myself.  Afraid  to 
risk  it?  Brave  man!  I'll  be  there  in  fifteen  minutes,  and 
you  might  be  on  the  steps.  Good-by,  Mr.  Wmbwm." 

This  last  was  said  in  the  fond  tone  of  ancient  friendship, 
and  she  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  gesture  like  shaking 
hands. 

She  turned  to  find  her  mother  thinning  her  lips  in  a 
long  tight  line;  her  cheeks  bulged  explosively.  Daphne 
forestalled  her: 

"He's  a  young  fellow  in  the  same  firm  as  Bayard. 
Says  he's  here  on  business  for  ten  days.  Bayard  told  him 
to  call  me  up  and  tell  me  to  be  nice  to  him.  That  sounds 
like  By.  Also  said  he  hadn't  time  to  write.  That  sounds 
liker  still.  He  says — Mr.  What's-his-name  says — that 
By  said  his  fraternity  pin  would  serve  as  letter  of  intro- 
duction. Same  'frat'  as  By;  so  of  course  I  had  to  invite 
him  out  to  tea.  I  couldn't  get  his  name  quite — something 
like — well,  I  don't  know.  Bayard  told  him  to  kiss  you 
for  him,  so  he  must  be  all  right.  I  was  going  to  take  him 
to  the  hotel  to  a  tea-dance,  but  I  thought  I'd  better  give 
him  a  look-over  first.  So  I'll  roll  him  out  here.  Looks 
better,  I  suppose,  too,  to  trot  out  parents  and  teacups 
first.  If  he's  all  right,  I'll  have  time  to  get  him  back  to 
the  hotel  for  a  dance.  If  he  isn't,  I've  got  other  en- 
gagements. Have  tea  ready.  Get  out  the  nice  china, 
and  the  napkins  I  monogrammed,  and — " 

"But  we  can't  have  tea.  It's  Maria's  afternoon  off, 
and  there's  only  the  cook." 

"Well,  you  tell  that  Swedish  dromedary  to  put  on  a 
clean  apron,  and  not  to  say,  'Huh!'" 

"But,  Daphne!    Wait!    I  can't—" 

"I  haven't  time  to  argue  with  you,  mamma.  Please 
do  as  I  tell  you  for  once,  and  don't  fuss.  Mr.  Wmbwm 
will  probably  have  a  lot  of  news  to  tell  you  about  your 
prodigal  son.  G'by!" 

She  popped  a  kiss  on  the  forehead  that  anxiety  had 
turned  to  corduroy,  and  ran  up-stairs  like  another  April 

3 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

shower  chasing  the  sun  up-hill.  She  dashed  down  again 
with  hat  and  gloves,  and  with  nose  repowdered,  slammed 
the  front  door  gaily,  thrummed  the  steps,  and  strode 
across  the  long  lawn  to  the  little  electric  car  standing 
under  the  porte-cochere.  The  car  was  very  large  for  a 
beetle,  but  pretty  small  for  an  automobile. 

It  did  not  start  at  once,  and  Daphne  fretted  at  the 
lever,  said  "Darn  it!"  and  jiggled  everything  in  sight  for 
luck,  like  a  Swiss  bell-ringer.  She  was  finally  rewarded 
by  the  gradual  decision  of  the  thing  to  move. 

Then  she  smiled  again  and  purred  along  her  way  down 
the  eminent  wooded  lane  of  Euclid  Avenue,  where  the 
young  summer  was  festooning  all  the  smoky  elms  with 
green  bunting.  The  young  lady  errant  was  riding  forth 
to  joust  with  love  and  adventure  in  the  manner  of  her 
time. 


CHAPTER  II 

r^OREIGNERS  have  commented  on  the  enthusiasm 
L  with  which  a  stranger  bearing  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  Americans  is  swept  into  the  family  life  and  ac- 
cepted as  a  kinsman  for  whose  comfort  one  is  responsible. 

Clay  Wimburn  was  not  a  foreigner,  but  he  had  spent 
a  good  many  of  his  years  in  foreign  countries.  He  had 
never  visited  such  a  combination  of  big  city  and  big 
village  as  Cleveland.  He  had  come  on  business  for  his 
firm  to  get  estimates  and  bids  on  the  manufacture  of  an 
automatic  stoker  for  locomotives. 

The  night  train  from  New  York  had  deposited  him  in 
the  grimy  cavern  of  the  station  at  an  early  hour.  He  had 
dawdled  over  his  breakfast,  feeling  lost  without  his  New 
York  morning  papers.  He  had  wandered  a  little,  noting 
with  surprise  that  Cleveland  had  been  rebuilding  itself 
about  an  artistic  Brunnerian  idea. 

When  at  last  it  grew  late  enough  to  telephone  for  an 
appointment  with  the  man  he  had  come  to  see,  he  was 
disgusted  to  learn  that  the  wretch  would  not  be  visible 
till  the  next  day. 

It  was  then  that  Bayard  Kip's  parting  behest  to  call 
up  his  sister  recurred  to  Wimburn.  He  planned  to  com- 
pose a  formal  note  of  self-introduction,  but  Bayard  had 
forgotten  to  tell  him  his  sister's  name  or  his  father's  ini- 
tials. There  were  several  Kips  in  the  telephone-book, 
and  he  could  not  tell  which  would  be  which.  He  decided 
to  call  up  each  number  and  ask  a  maid  or  somebody  if 
Mr.  Bayard  Kip's  people  lived  there. 

The  very  first  number  he  called  brought  Daphne  her- 

5 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

self  suddenly  voice  to  voice  with  him.  Voices  are  char- 
acters, and  it  was  a  case  of  love  at  first  hearing  with 
him.  She  had  him  smiling  and  cooing  at  the  second 
phrase.  He  felt  that  she  was  going  to  make  his  stay  in 
Cleveland  pleasant. 

He  formed  all  sorts  of  pictures  of  her  while  he  waited 
on  the  hotel  steps,  but  when  she  stepped  out  of  her  car 
and  looked  about,  she  was  none  of  the  Misses  Kip  he  had 
planned.  He  did  not  start  forward  at  her  till  she  made  a 
timid  feint  at  him.  She  was  a  round,  pretty  little  thing, 
amiable  of  eye  and  humorous  about  the  lips,  and  cunningly 
dressed.  She  looked  as  if  she  would  play  a  good  game  of 
tennis.  She  looked  as  if  she  would  be  a  plucky,  tireless 
sportswoman;  yet  she  had  a  wistful,  tender  huggableness 
that  a  girl  ought  not  to  lose,  however  well  she  plays 
tennis. 

Daphne  had  had  time  to  repent  of  her  boldness  and  to 
feel  shy  and  afraid.  But  when  Daphne  was  shy  and 
afraid  she  always  swaggered.  She  swaggered  as  danger- 
ously as  a  wren  on  a  spray  of  apple  blossoms. 

"Is  this  Mr. — "  she  began.  He  was  too  nervous  to 
notice  her  pause. 

He  retorted,  "Is  this  Miss  Kip?" 

He  noted  that  she  shook  hands  well,  with  a  boyish 
clench  accompanied  by  an  odd  little  duck  of  the  head. 

"Mighty  nice  of  you  to  take  me  off  this  desert  island," 
he  beamed. 

"Mighty  glad  to  have  the  privilege,"  she  said  as  she 
verified  the  fraternity  pin  on  his  waistcoat.  "Mother  is 
dying  to  hear  how  Bayard  is." 

Mothers  have  little  power  left  as  guardians,  but  the 
children  find  that  the  title  has  a  certain  value  at  times  in 
keeping  order. 

"Won't  you  get  in?"  said  Daphne,  pointing  to  her  car. 
She  made  him  crowd  in  first,  then  followed  and  closed 
the  door  and  pulled  the  throttle. 

After  they  left  the  traffic-hampered  streets  she  asked 

6 


A  LREADY  Wimburn  was  a  member  of  the  househol< 
/A.  care  whether  the  house  were  artistic  or  not,  or  tl 


ic  had  been  kissed  and  sympathized  with.     He  did  not 
jeople  rich  or  poor. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  inevitable  question:  "Ever  seen  Euclid  Avenue  be- 
fore?" 

"No,  I  haven't." 

"We're  rather  proud  of  it — prouder  still  of  what  it 
used  to  be,  before  the  shops  began  to  crawl  up.  It  used 
to  be  beautiful." 

"It's  beautiful  now,"  said  Wimburn.  "Cleveland  re- 
minds me  of  Florence." 

"Florence!  I  spent  a  day  or  two  there  with  a  gang  of 
school-girls  on  a  tour.  I  thought  Florence  was  about  as 
different  from  Cleveland  as  could  be." 

"That's  why  they  remind  me  of  each  other,"  Wimburn 
explained.  "Everything  in  Florence  was  mysterious  and 
walled  in  and  hidden;  everything  in  Cleveland  is  so  open 
and  honest  and  aboveboard." 

"Perhaps  not  everything,"  said  Daphne.  "We're  not 
quite  so  dull  as  all  that  comes  to!"  She  was  almost  hope- 
less of  finding  out  his  name. 

He  meditated  aloud:  "How  wonderful  it  really  is  that 
you  should  talk  to  me  over  the  telephone  and  invite  me 
to  your  home  and  come  and  get  me  like  this." 

"What's  so  wonderful  about  that?"  said  Daphne. 
"Everybody  does  it." 

"Everything  that  everybody  does  is  wonderful,"  said 
Wimburn.  "But  how  especially  wonderful  it  is  to  live 
in  a  city  where  there  are  no  walls  about  the  gardens. 
Look!  there  aren't  even  fences.  The  lawns  are  all  joined 
together  and  the  houses  are  mostly  windows.  Everything 
is  so  open  and  free,  full  of  sunlight  and  frankness.  You're 
taking  me  home  in  this  charming  little  glass  showcase  to 
introduce  me  to  your  mother.  I  tell  you  the  world  do 
move!  A  woman  of  to-day  has  a  lot  to  be  thankful  for. 
You  ought  to  be  mighty  happy." 

"Ought-to-be  hasn't  much  to  do  with  Is,"  Daphne 
sighed.  "We've  got  a  lot  to  get  yet — and  a  lot  to  get 
rid  of." 

He  sank  back  discouraged.  The  sex  was  still  insatiable. 

ii 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

When  you  go  visiting  a  home  you  have  never  seen  and 
are  met  at  the  train  by  your  host  or  hostess  you  cannot 
help  trying  to  decide  which  house  in  the  double  line  you 
pass  in  review  is  to  be  your  lodging.  And  in  that  decision 
is  an  involuntary  estimate  of  your  host  or  hostess. 

"That  couldn't  be  theirs!"  you  whisper  inside  you  at 
intervals.  "I  hope  that's  it!  I  wish  that  could  have 
been  it.  Oh,  I'm  afraid  that's  it!  Yes,  it  is.  Ugh!  the 
ugliest  house  on  the  ugliest  street!  Of  course!  It  would 
be  my  luck!  And  it  looks  just  like  'em!"  Then  aloud: 
"And  is  this  really  your  home?  Isn't  it  stunning!" 

Stunning  is  a  very  useful  word,  a  two-faced  word,  with 
which  you  can  lie  and  keep  a  pious  conscience — a  recom- 
mendable  word. 

Host  says,  "Do  you  really  like  it?" 

And  you  exclaim :  ' '  Like  it  ?   That's  not  the  word  at  all. " 

If  you  are  a  disgustingly  honorable  person  such  an 
ambiguity  is  the  limit  of  your  generosity,  but  if  you  have 
any  human  decency  and  are  worthy  of  hospitality  you  go 
on  and  say:  "I  love  it!  It's  ideal."  If  it  is  quite  gaudy 
you  call  it  a  "palace";  if  it  is  plain  and  stupid  you  say 
it  is  "so  homelike"! 

Clay  Wimburn  was  now  engaged  in  this  fascinating 
branch  of  biology:  the  study  of  a  new  character  through 
conversation,  clothes,  lodging. 

He  was  wondering  what  sort  of  home  Daphne  Kip 
could  have  grown  up  in.  He  knew  her  brother  in  New 
York,  but  it  is  hard  to  tell  about  a  man  abroad.  The 
sloven  and  the  fop  may  come  from  the  same  manor; 
from  a  tenement  will  issue  two  brothers,  one  of  them  a 
stevedore,  the  other  a  haberdasher. 

Middle-aged  women  tend  to  subside  to  their  own  level, 
but  young  women  over-play  their  origins,  over-dress  their 
statuses.  The  princess  sailing  down  the  channel  in  full 
rigging  may  be  a  shop-girl  and  the  Quaker  girl  may  be  the 
daughter  of  a  millionaire.  Wimburn  was  eager  to  know 
what  Daphne  was,  and  whence. 

12 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  owned  a  car,  but  many  a  person  owned  a  car 
who  owned  little  else.  Cars  were  the  fever  of  a  generation 
on  wheels. 

Wimburn  was  trying  to  select  Daphne 's  home  from  the 
assortment.  On  one  side  of  Euclid  Avenue  the  lawns 
were  deep  and  wide.  To  a  New-Yorker  they  were  price- 
lessly  beautiful.  Yet  on  the  other  side  the  yards  were  too 
vast  to  be  called  lawns — they  were  farmsteads. 

On  either  side  the  homes  ranged  widely  from  old- 
fashioned  residences  to  new-fangled  chateaux.  Wimburn 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  as  to  Daphne's  residential 
probabilities.  At  length  she  said: 

"See  that  big  house  on  the  left?    That's  my  home." 

He  stared  at  it  in  some  astonishment.  It  was  as  big  as  a 
castle.  The  thick  walls  seemed  to  be  meant  to  withstand 
siege  and  the  hard  knocks  of  culverin  and  battering-ram. 
Only  the  moat  and  drawbridge  were  lacking,  and  the 
mountain  scenery. 

Wimburn  thought  it  strange  that  such  a  little  wren  as 
Daphne  should  nest  in  such  a  stronghold.  Evidently  she 
was  more  important  than  he  had  thought. 

"It's  gorgeous!"  he  exclaimed,  and  sat  up  a  little 
straighter. 

Opposite  the  entrance  Daphne  turned  her  car,  and 
Wimburn  began  to  prepare  formal  phrases  of  greeting  for 
her  mother,  who  would  be  at  least  an  empress.  This  visit 
was  an  event.  He  would  receive  distinction  from  it. 

But  instead  of  driving  in  Daphne  completed  the  circle 
and  turned  off  Euclid  Avenue  into  a  side  street.  She 
chuckled  maliciously  at  Wimburn's  chagrin.  "  I  was  only 
joking.  My  father  used  to  be  the  gardener  there." 

"I  know  better  than  that,"  said  Wimburn.  "He 
manufactures  the  adding-machines  we  use  in  our  office — 
'Kip's  Kalkulator'— with  three  k's." 

On  this  side  street  the  homes  were  close  to  one  an- 
other and  the  street.  And  they  were  frame  houses  of  the 
jig-saw,  curlicue,  shingle-spasm  school.  Most  of  them 

13 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

were  newish  relics  of  a  recent  real-estate  "improvement" 
boom. 

"This  is  our  street,"  said  Daphne,  "and  that's  really 
our  house.  That's  mother  pulling  the  dandelions." 

She  pointed  to  a  cottage  that  was  old  without  being 
respectable,  evidently  the  most  ancient  dwelling  in  the 
region,  a  shanty  left  over  from  earlier  days  and  swamped 
in  the  tide  of  prosperity. 

On  the  patch  of  ill-kempt  grass  a  scrawny  woman  stood 
up-ended,  with  her  head  hanging  down  almost  between 
her  knees,  her  hands  gathering  "greens"  for  salad.  She 
held  the  most  awkward  attitude  of  which  the  human  form 
is  capable  —  the  attitude  well  chosen  to  scare  wolves 
away. 

Wimburn  felt  queasy  and  hastily  changed  his  formulas 
of  greeting.  He  would  lose,  instead  of  gain,  distinction  by 
this  visit.  He  tried  to  solace  himself  with  reminders 
that,  after  all,  this  is  a  democracy,  "be  it  ever  so  humble," 
and  things  of  that  sort. 

But  once  more  Daphne  laughed  and  passed  on,  leaving 
him  befuddled.  She  turned  into  another  avenue,  and  this 
was  betwixt  and  between,  half-way  from  both  poverty 
and  wealth. 

Wimburn  berated  himself  for  feeling  that  it  mattered 
much  where  or  how  this  nice  girl  lived;  but  he  was  all 
mixed  up.  The  ingredients  of  his  soul  had  been  shuffled 
together.  It  is  one  of  the  most  joyous  prerogatives  of  the 
weaker  sex  to  revert  the  stronger  to  chaos.  Daphne  was 
tickled  with  her  success. 

"  Well  shaken  before  taken  "  was  evidently  her  motto. 
There  was  philosophy  in  her  flippancy.  She  was  study- 
ing him  while  he  studied  her. 

Finally  she  took  pity  on  him  and  turned  into  a  drive- 
way leading  through  a  spacious  expanse  of  grass  dotted 
with  trees  and  shrubs,  to  a  homelike  house  without  beauty 
or  ugliness — a  house  that  had  grown  with  the  personalities 
of  the  occupants.  The  only  ostentations  about  the  place 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

were  the  cupola  of  an  earlier  day  and  the  porte-cochere 
stuck  out  like  a  broken  wing. 

The  house  was  no  more  a  matter  for  artistic  considera- 
tion than  a  pair  of  old  shoes.  Daphne  stepped  out  and 
helped  Wimburn  to  alight  as  if  he  were  an  elderly  invalid. 
She  paused  a  moment  on  the  porch  to  startle  him  by  ex- 
pressing just  what  he  was  thinking: 

"The  trees  and  grass  are  nice,  however." 

She  laughed  as  she  saw  how  he  squirmed  before  her 
intuition.  Then  she  led  him  into  the  house  and  waved 
him  toward  the  hall-tree.  When  he  had  set  down  his  hat 
and  stick  she  led  him  into  the  drawing-room. 

"Mother,  we're  home." 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Kip,  who  called  Daphne  "dear" 
before  company.  She  was  looking  slightly  dressed  up 
and  her  eyebrows  were  lifted  in  the  well-bred  line  of 
patient  inquiry  usual  to  hostesses. 

"Mother,"  said  Daphne,  "I  want  to  present  Mr. — " 
(mumble — gulp).  She  had  not  yet  achieved  his  name. 

Her  mother  shocked  her  by  saying,  "Delighted  to  meet 
you,  Mr. —  I  didn't  quite  catch  the  name." 

Mrs.  Kip  could  not  talk  to  anonymous  persons.  She 
simply  had  to  punctuate  her  remarks  with  the  name  of  the 
addressee.  It  filled  the  breathing-places  and  thought- 
gaps  and  prevented  the  adversary  in  conversation  from 
breaking  in. 

Daphne  blushed  for  her  mother's  query,  but  was  glad 
to  overhear  the  stranger's  answer: 

"I  am  Mr.  Wimburn,  Mrs.  Kip — Clay  Wimburn." 

At  this  moment  a  tall,  shambling  man  walked  in. 
He  looked  as  if  he  looked  older  than  he  was.  His  spec- 
tacles overwhelmed  a  rather  unsuccessful  nose.  Daphne 
hardly  needed  to  introduce  him  as  her  father.  She  gave 
Wimburn  a  name  now,  and  he  felt  called  upon  to  explain 
his  incursion. 

"I  know  your  son  Bayard  very  well.  I'm  in  his  office. 
We  belong  to  the  same  fraternity — different  chapters,  of 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

course.  We  struck  up  a  great  friendship.  When  he 
knew  I  was  coming  to  Cleveland  he  said,  'Tell  my  sister 
to  be  nice  to  you/  and — and — 

Wimburn  paused  in  some  embarrassment  before  the 
ball-room  manner  of  Mrs.  Kip.  But  the  pompous  dis- 
guises of  timidity  fell  from  her  as  she  murmured — and 
blushed  in  a  motherly  way: 

"  Daphne  told  me.  He  said  for  you  to  kiss  his  mother 
for  him." 

"Ye-es." 

"Well,  I  am  his  mother." 

"Oh!    May  I?"  - 

"Will  you?" 

He  pressed  his  lips  respectfully  on  her  cheek,  but  she, 
closing  her  eyes  to  imagine  him  her  son,  flung  her  fat 
arms  about  him  and  held  him  a  moment.  He  kissed  her 
again  with  a  kind  of  vicarious  devotion.  Her  cheek  was 
salt-wet  under  his  second  kiss,  and  she  fell  back,  beating 
her  eyelids  and  laughing  sobbishly. 

"I'd  want  Bayard  to  deliver  such  a  message  to  your 
mother,"  she  explained. 

"My  mother!"  he  groaned  as  his  eyes  went  up  and  his 
jaws  set  hard. 

Mrs.  Kip  caught  his  hands  and  squeezed  them  and 
said:  "Oh,  that's  too  bad,  you  poor  boy!  Was  it 
long  ago?" 

"Three  years." 

"Oh,  that's  too  bad!"  It  was  not  much  to  say.  But 
what  is  there  to  say? 

Already  Wimburn  was  a  member  of  the  household ;  he 
had  been  kissed  and  sympathized  with.  He  did  not  care 
whether  the  house  were  artistic  or  not,  or  the  people  rich 
or  poor. 

He  turned  to  Daphne  with  an  apologetic  look,  and  saw 
that  she  was  staring  at  him  with  softer  eyes  than  he  had 
thought,  she  had. 

Definite  anxieties  engaged  Mrs.  Kip,  for  tea  had  come 

16 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

in  tottering  on  a  tray  carried  by  a  panic-smitten  cook,  as 
agile  as  a  hippopotamus  and  as  shy  as  a  violet. 

The  tray  reached  the  table  with  a  jolt  as  from  a  great 
height.  The  cook  disguised  as  a  maid  had  forgotten  most 
of  the  minor  details,  such  as  the  sugar,  the  lemon,  and  the 
tea. 

Daphne  apologized  as  the  wretch  went  galumphing  off 
for  them:  "The  parlor-maid  is  out."  Then  she  blushed 
with  rage.  She  felt  both  that  she  ought  not  to  have 
apologized  and  that  the  guest  did  not  believe  they  had  a 
parlor-maid. 

Daphne  and  her  mother  and  father  went  through  the 
tea  ceremony  with  the  anxiety  of  people  in  an  earthquake, 
and  the  "Swedish  dromedary"  stared  at  the  unaccus- 
tomed sight  as  if  the  tea-bibbers  were  drinking  poison, 
and  she  watching  for  the  convulsions  to  begin. 

But  there  were  no  casualties.  Daphne  and  her  mother 
breathed  with  regularity  again,  and  Mrs.  Kip  asked  ques- 
tions in  an  endless  series  like  an  attorney.  Mr.  Kip  put 
in  an  occasional  query  about  Bayard's  business  prospects. 

Clay  Wimburn  talked  altogether  about  Bayard  and  his 
wonderful  progress  in  business  in  spite  of  the  hard  times. 
Bayard,  he  said,  was  sticking  to  his  desk  like  a  demon,  and 
he  let  nothing  distract  him. 

"It  must  be  glorious  to  live  in  New  York,"  Daphne 
sighed. 

"Why  don't  you  come  and  pay  Bayard  a  visit?"  Wim- 
burn suggested. 

"He  wouldn't  have  time  to  take  me  anywhere.  And 
I  don't  know  anybody  else  there." 

"You  know  me.  And  I'd  be  only  too  glad  to  try  to 
repay  your  hospitality  to  me." 

"You  wouldn't  have  much  to  repay!"  said  Daphne, 
fishingly. 

"More  than  I  ever  possibly  could,"  Wimburn  hyper- 
bolized. 

Mrs.  Kip  looked  on  and  listened  with  the  fond  alarm  of 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

one  who  has  seen  fatal  courtships  begun  with  just  such 
fencing. 

When  at  length  Daphne  suggested  that  there  was  still 
time  to  rush  down  to  the  Hotel  Statler  for  a  dance  or  two, 
Mrs.  Kip  smiled  at  her.  Wimburn  did  not  know  that 
he  had  been  brought  home  on  approval.  Mrs.  Kip 
realized  that  he  was  not  to  be  returned  as  impossible. 
Her  fancy  gambled  in  futures. 


CHAPTER  III 

ONCE  more  Wimburn  was  passenger  in  Daphne's 
car.  The  air  was  dulcet  with  the  spring  twilight, 
and  his  silence  and  hers  made  now  a  kind  of  communion 
of  contentment. 

They  went  up  to  the  ball-room  and  stepped  at  once 
into  another  world.  To  Wimburn  it  was  like  crossing  a 
door-sill  from  Cleveland  to  New  York. 

The  typical  th£  dansant  of  the  period  was  in  full  swing. 
The  room  was  crowded,  and  the  air  was  shaken  with 
boisterous  music  and  the  whirling  of  linked  bodies. 
Daphne  attached  herself  to  Wimburn's  frame,  and  the 
music  like  a  strong  wind  took  them  flying. 

She  noticed  that  he  danced  with  genial  dignity,  and  he 
found  her  as  light  as  if  she  were  a  little  pink  balloon,  giving 
buoyancy  to  him  along  with  perfect  obedience. 

In  the  intervals  of  the  dances  she  introduced  him 
broadcast  as  Bayard's  chum.  Apparently  everybody 
was  a  former  crony  of  Bayard's.  Everybody  called 
everybody  by  the  first  name  with  the  familiarity  of  those 
who  have  grown  up  from  infancy  together. 

Before  Wimburn  had  been  in  the  room  half  an  hour  he 
had  invitations  and  inclusions  in  invitations  enough  to 
keep  him  gadding  for  a  month.  His  fraternity  pin  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  some  of  the  men.  There  was  a 
chapter  at  Western  Reserve  University,  and  he  was  urged 
to  accept  a  luncheon  in  his  honor.  He  was  proffered  two 
weeks'  cards  at  the  University  Club,  the  Hermit  Chib, 
the  Advertising  Club,  and  several  others. 

Already  on  the  first  day  of  his  visit  he  was  old  friends 

19 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

with  a  swarm  of  charming  people,  a  full-fledged  member 
of  the  community.  He  was  amazed  at  the  flood  of  hos- 
pitality, but  he  wanted  more  of  Daphne  and  less  of  her 
entourage. 

Daphne  had  to  leave  the  ball-room  early  and  rush  home 
to  dress  for  a  theater  party  in  which  she  managed  to 
secure  an  extra  place  for  Wimburn. 

Wimburn  offered  to  escort  her  home.  This  presented  a 
difficulty. 

"If  you  ride  home  with  me  in  my  car,"  Daphne  said, 
"there'll  be  no  way  for  you  to  get  back  unless  I  bring  you 
back.  And  then  we'll  be  just  where  we  are  now." 

"I'll  come  back  in  a  street-car." 

"That  would  never  do." 

And  so  in  order  to  prevent  him  from  going  back  alone 
half-way  she  forbade  him  to  come  along  at  all.  He  insisted 
at  least  on  taking  her  to  the  car. 

He  handed  her  in  with  the  usual  futility  of  a  man  lifting 
a  woman's  elbow  in  lieu  of  herself.  He  closed  the  door 
on  her  with  respect.  He  said  good-by  several  times  before 
her  car  felt  the  thrill  of  life  along  its  keel. 

He  returned  to  the  hotel.  He  might  have  rejoined  the 
dancers,  but  he  was  surprised  to  prefer  the  solitude  of  his 
room.  He  was  in  a  luxuriously  elegiac  mood,  brooding  on 
the  strange  interest  he  had  taken  in  the  sister  of  his  friend. 
He  dined  alone  with  thoughts  of  Daphne  for  entremets. 
He  was  glad  that  she  should  see  him  in  evening  dress  with 
his  top-hat  of  the  latest  block. 

In  her  brilliant  theater  gown  Daphne  revealed  a  height- 
ened charm.  She  was  herself  in  italics. 

By  outrageous  manipulation  she  smuggled  Wimburn 
into  the  seat  next  to  her.  The  play  was  a  comedy.  He 
laughed  because  she  laughed.  He  loved  her  laughter. 

He  thought,  "We  could  be  very  happy  together." 

When  the  performance  was  over  he  longed  to  take  her 
home,  but  she  had  come  down  in  an  alien  limousine. 
Giving  her  up  was  a  wrench. 

20 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  thought,  "We  could  be  very  unhappy  apart." 

There  was  a  breakfast  at  the  Chagrin  Valley  hunt  club 
the  next  noon.  He  cut  short  one  business  interview  and 
postponed  another  in  order  to  dash  out  to  the  feast  with 
Daphne. 

Daphne  was  not  there.  He  was  astonishingly  depressed. 
She  came  in  later;  he  went  from  Inferno  to  Purgatory 
at  once.  Her  chatter  seemed  far  more  important  than 
the  base  errands  of  commerce. 

Wimburn  was  the  victim  of  an  onset  of  that  delirium 
amans  known  as  love  at  first  sight.  He  was  at  the  right 
age,  and  he  found  something  exotically  captivating  in  this 
strange  girl  in  the  strange  city.  He  was  poisoned  with 
love,  and  his  opinion  of  Daphne  was  lunatically  fantastic. 
No  one  in  the  world  equaled  her.  No  one  ever  had 
equaled  her  or  could  equal  her  in  any  future  ever. 

When  she  suggested  a  game  of  golf  "if  he  had  no  other 
engagement,"  he  rashly  ignored  his  appointment  for  the 
afternoon.  Daphne  played  golf  well  for  one  who  did 
not  play  it  very  well.  To  Wimburn  she  was  the  very 
goddess  of  golf.  Her  stances  were  all  statuettes  that 
ought  to  have  been  immortalized  by  Greek  sculptors. 
When  she  swung  back  and  then  down  and  chopped  the 
ball  or  gouted  the  turf  he  found  her  rhythms  so  marvelous 
that  he  longed  for  a  motion-picture  camera  to  record  them 
for  posterity.  When  he  drove  he  kept  his  eye  on  her 
instead  of  the  ball  and  was  glad  to  slice  or  whiff.  When 
she  beat  him  "two  up"  he  was  proud  of  his  defeat. 

Spring  and  love  are  the  perennial  miracles,  always  new, 
always  amazing.  It  was  springtime  in  Wimburn's  years 
and  in  the  calendar  of  the  world;  and  countless  other 
youth  of  mankind,  animal  kind,  bird  and  fish  kind,  flowers 
and  fruit  trees  and  perhaps  of  chemicals  in  the  ground,  were 
feeling  the  same  mania. 

Daphne's  cordiality  was  at  first  merely  the  hospitable 
Warmth  of  her  unusually  cordial  community.  But  she 
caught  the  fever  from  Wimburn  and  decided  that  he  was 

21 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  final  word  in  human  evolution.  The  little  motor  be- 
came a  magic  carpet  of  translation.  They  rode  less  to  the 
crowded  dancing-halls  and  more  to  the  outer  solitudes. 

They  began  to  dread  the  society  of  others,  to  resent  the 
existence  of  a  squatter  population  on  their  private  planet. 
The  world  was  too  much  with  them.  The  little  car  was 
transparent.  Even  at  night,  etiquette  required  them  to 
light  it  up  within. 

Wimburn  had  admired  Cleveland  because  of  the  open- 
ness and  exposition  of  its  fenceless  lawns.  Now  he  began 
to  long  for  Florentine  seclusions.  All  he  wanted  was  a 
high-walled  garden  with  nothing  in  it  but  a  few  fragrant 
flowers,  himself  with  Daphne,  and  one  fluting  nightingale. 

But  he  had  accepted  invitations  in  batches  before  he 
fell  so  deeply  in  love,  and  now  he  could  not  shake  off  the 
despotism  of  his  hosts  and  hostesses.  He  felt  that  he 
must  repay  his  social  debts  in  some  way. 

Daphne  hailed  with  enthusiasm  his  suggestion  that  he 
should  give  a  large  dinner  and  a  dance  at  the  Statler  and 
that  her  mother  should  act  as  hostess.  When  he  found 
out  how  expensive  the  affair  would  be  he  dared  not  back 
out.  He  felt,  too,  that  the  honor  of  New  York  was  at 
stake.  Besides,  the  plan  had  convinced  Daphne  and 
everybody  else  that  he  was  a  young  man  of  great  wealth. 
That  is  a  tempting  rdle  to  play,  a  difficult  one  to  discard. 

The  festival  was  a  triumph,  and  Clay  carried  off  his 
part  with  easy  bravado.  He  paid  the  bill  with  a  check 
that  acted  like  a  vacuum  cleaner  on  his  bank  account. 
But  he  could  restore  it  by  a  Spartan  regime  when  he 
returned  to  New  York. 

He  did  not  return  so  soon  as  he  expected.  It  seemed 
impossible  to  uproot  himself  from  that  pleasant  soil. 
One  afternoon  when  he  had  already  overstayed  his  fur- 
lough Daphne  and  he  were  riding  in  the  little  car  through 
the  outer  suburb  known  as  Shaker  Heights — a  section 
rapidly  evolving  from  a  sleepy  religious  community  to  a 
swarm  of  city  residences. 

22 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

The  late  afternoon  moon  had  risen  in  a  sky  still  rosy  with 
the  afterglow  of  sunset.  The  air  was  murmurous  with 
pleading. 

Suddenly  Wimburn  cried  aloud,  to  his  own  surprise, 
and  hers,  "Daphne!  Miss  Kip!  I  can't  stand  every- 
thing, you  know!  I'm  only  human,  after  all." 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked  in  prosaic  phrase,  but 
with  a  poetic  flutter  of  breath. 

"I  love  you,  damn  it! — pardon  me,  but  I'm  infernally 
in  love  with  you.  I'm  tormented.  I  came  here  on  busi- 
ness, and  instead  of  my  finishing  it,  you've  finished  me. 
I'm  two  days  overdue  in  New  York,  and  I've  had  to  lie 
to  the  office  to  explain  why.  And  all  I  can  think  of  now 
is  that  I'd  rather  resign  and  starve  to  death  than  go 
back  and  leave  you  here." 

"Honestly?"  she  barely  breathed. 

"Desperately!"  he  moaned.  "What's  to  become  of 
me?" 

"You'd  better  go  back,  I  suppose.  You'll  soon  get  over 
it,  and  find  somebody  else  to  love." 

"There's  nobody  else  in  the  world  worth  loving.  I'd 
die  if  I  gave  you  up!  I'd  simply  die." 

This  was  no  overstatement  of  his  feelings,  however 
unimportant  it  may  have  been  as  a  prophecy. 

As  usual,  it  was  the  male  that  sang  the  mad  love-songs. 
Daphne,  like  a  little  hen  canary,  answered  the  frantic 
roulades  of  her  wooer  with  short  chirps.  Her  response 
to  his  lyric  frenzy  was  another  brief  but  to  him  exceedingly 
eloquent : 

"Honestly?" 

He  went  on  with  aching  anxiety:  "Could  you  care  for 
me  just  a  little?  If  you  could  love  me  or  just  promise  to 
try  to,  I  could  face  my  exile  for  a  while.  Do  you  think 
you  could  love  me  ever?" 

She  dropped  her  chin  on  her  breast  and  sighed. 

"I  guess  I  do  now." 

The  miraculous  felicity  of  this  situation  overwhelmed 

23 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

them  both.  He  clipt  her  in  his  arms,  and  she  flung  hers 
about  him,  forgetting  entirely  the  steering-wheel.  The 
neglected  little  car  promptly  scuttered  off  the  road,  crossed 
a  gutter  into  a  vacant  lot,  scooped  up  a  "For  Sale"  sign, 
and  was  about  to  tip  over  into  an  excavation  when  Daphne 
looked  up  long  enough  to  shut  off  the  power.  Then  in  a 
blind  rapture  she  returned  to  where  she  belonged,  his 
embrace. 

Young  love  is  as  ridiculous  to  the  beholders  as  it  is 
sacred  to  the  blissful  pair.  Daphne  and  Wimburn  forgot 
all  things  human  but  themselves  till  they  were  startled 
by  voices  from  the  road  sacrilegiously  shouting: 

' '  Hoo-oo !     Lovers !     Lo  v- vur-urs ! ' ' 

Daphne  and  Clay  unclasped  their  arms  in  dismay  and 
horror.  Their  love  was  not  a  matter  for  ridicule.  They 
made  out  a  touring-car  passing  by,  crowded  with  blurred 
spectators.  Daphne  bit  her  nether  lip  in  chagrin.  Wim- 
burn suggested,  half  selfishly,  half  for  her  comfort: 

"What  does  it  matter  so  long  as  you're  engaged  to  me?" 

"Am  I?"  she  asked,  touched  by  his  eagerness  to  sol- 
emnize their  relations. 

"Aren't  you?"  he  answered.  "Won't  you  be?  I  love 
you  with  all  my  soul." 

"All  right,"  she  sighed,  and  without  any  frivolous 
coquetting,  she  went  back  to  his  arms. 

Then  she  switched  on  the  electric  lights  and  steered 
the  car  to  the  road  again,  and  turned  the  prow  homeward. 

Soon  she  was  assailed  with  fears  for  the  credibility 
of  this  wonder-work,  and  when  he  said : 

"When  shall  we  announce  our  engagement?"  she  pro- 
tested: 

"Oh,  not  till  we  are  sure." 

"I'm  sure  now." 

"But  we  must  be  terribly  sure.  It's  such  a  dangerous 
thing,  getting  married.  So  many  people  who  think  they 
love  each  other  find  out  their  mistake  too  late.  You 
don't  know  me  very  well." 

24 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"You  mean  you  don't  know  me  very  well." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  but  for  you.  I'd  hate  to  dis- 
appoint you,  and  I  don't  really  amount  to  much.  You're 
ambitious  and  brilliant,  and  a  scholar  and  all  that,  and 
I'm  only — me.  I  don't  know  anything.  I  can't  do 
anything  except  gad  around;  and  you'd  tire  of  me." 

"Not  in  this  world — nor  the  next." 

"  It's  darling  of  you  to  say  it,  and  you  think  you  mean 
it — now.  But — " 

"I  know  it,  Daphne  honey,  now  and  forever.  I  don't 
want  anybody  but  you.  Life  won't  be  life  without  you. 
You've  promised  to  be  my  wife.  I  hold  you  to  your 
promise." 

"All  right."  It  was  exceedingly  satisfying  to  surrender 
her  soul  into  his  keeping.  She  had  reached  harbor 
already  after  so  brief  and  placid  a  voyage. 

He  ended  a  long  cozy  silence  with  the  surprising  re- 
mark, "I  suppose  I  ought  to  ask  your  parents'  consent?" 

The  daughter  of  the  twentieth  century  laughed: 
"Parents'  consent!  You  do  read  a  lot  of  ancient  litera- 
ture, don't  you?" 

"Still,  I  imagine  we'd  better  break  it  to  'em." 

"You  leave  it  to  me  to  break  it  to  'em.  They'll  be 
glad  enough  to  get  me  off  their  hands." 

"I'll  never  believe  that." 

When  they  reached  her  home  it  was  late,  and  his  hotel 
was  so  far  that,  since  he  would  be  spending  his  last 
evening  with  her,  anyway,  she  asked  him  to  stay  to 
dinner. 

She  broke  that  news  to  her  parents,  and  it  caused  them 
acute  distress.  Her  father  and  her  mother  were  deep  in 
the  battle  that  always  broke  out  between  them  when  the 
monthly  bills  arrived.  Daphne  was  so  used  to  this  that 
she  hardly  noticed  it. 

Wimburn  was  so  engrossed  in  watching  Daphne  that 
he  did  not  heed  the  strained  relations  of  the  elder  Kips. 
Besides,  he  did  not  expect  adulation  from  his  unwitting 

25 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

father-  and  mother-in-law-to-be.     He  felt  like  a  thief  in 
their  camp. 

After  dinner  the  parents  retired  to  the  living-room  to 
read  and  sew  and  mumble  over  their  mutual  grievances, 
while  Daphne  and  Wimburn  sat  and  murmured  in  a  very 
compact  space  on  the  large  piazza  which  the  full  moon 
turned  into  a  blue  portico  of  mystic  spell.  They  bade 
each  other  good  nights  with  all  the  reluctance  and  repeti- 
tion of  Juliet  and  her  Romeo.  Their  parting  was  just  as 
vital  to  them. 


CHAPTER  IV 

'"PHE  next  morning  Wimburn  woke  from  dreams  of 
1  bliss  to  the  realization  that  his  hotel  bill  would 
require  all  of  his  funds  except  enough  for  the  porter's  tip 
and  a  few  odd  dollars. 

He  could  not  buy  Daphne  an  engagement  ring  with  a 
few  odd  dollars,  and  he  was  afraid  to  leave  her  without 
the  brand  of  possession  on  her  finger. 

But  how  was  he  to  come  at  the  necessary  sum?  He 
could  not  decently  ask  the  firm  he  was  dealing  with  to 
lend  him  money.  He  might  have  asked  it  to  cash  a 
check  on  his  bank,  but  his  account  was  at  the  irreducible 
minimum. 

He  was  not  quite  foolhardy  enough  to  ask  any  of  his 
new  acquaintances  to  lend  him  money  enough  to  buy  a 
solitaire  for  Daphne.  He  faced  a  crisis  of  financial 
stringency. 

After  an  hour  or  two  of  meditation  he  determined  to 
beard  a  jeweler  in  his  lair  and  try  to  coax  him  into  the 
extension  of  credit.  It  was  a  rather  delicate  business  to 
get  a  diamond  on  tick  from  a  strange  goldsmith  in  a 
strange  city  with  no  other  collateral  than  his  non-nego- 
tiable face  and  his  appealing  plight.  But  he  was  des- 
perate. 

He  loitered  in  front  of  several  windows,  staring  at  the 
glittering  pebbles  on  the  velvet  beaches,  till  he  found  a 
tiny  gem  that  he  thought  might  feebly  represent  his 
exquisite  adoration.  He  went  in  and  asked  the  price. 
An  eager  salesman  peered  at  the  very  small  tag  and  an- 
nounced the  very  large  price:  one  hundred  and  eighty- 

27 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

five  dollars.  It  was  not  much  for  a  solitaire,  but  it  was 
too  much  for  that  bachelor. 

He  clung  to  the  counter  for  support  and  in  a  husky 
tone  asked  for  the  credit  man.  He  was  escorted  to  a 
barred  window  where  a  very  sane  old  person  gazed  out 
at  people  insane  enough  to  buy  jewelry.  Mr.  Gassett  had 
a  look  of  hospitality  toward  cash  and  of  shyness  toward 
credit.  He  probably  taught  a  Bible  class  on  Sundays. 

Wimburn  hemmed  and  blushed  and  swallowed  hard. 
With  the  plausibility  of  a  pickpocket  he  mumbled  as  he 
pushed  a  card  across  the  glass  sill: 

"I  am  Mr.  Clay  Wimburn  of  New  York  City.  I  have 
been  out  here  closing  up  an  important  deal  for  my  firm 
with  one  of  your  big  mills.  I  happened  to  see  a  little 
ring  in  your  window — rather  pretty  little  thing.  Took  a 
fancy  to  it.  Had  half  a  mind  to  buy  it.  But  rather  short 
of  cash,  and — er — and — " 

Mr.  Gassett  waited  with  patience. 

Clay  went  on:  "I  have  no  right  to  ask  you  to  give 
me  credit.  But  I'm  very  anxious  to  leave  the  ring 
here." 

"Leave  it  here!    I  thought  you  wanted  to  buy  it!" 

"Of  course !  I  want  to  leave  it  on  the  finger  of  a  young 
lady." 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Gassett,  to  whom  ladies'  fingers  were 
an  important  market. 

"Fact  is,  I  met  her  here  in  Cleveland,  and  I — I — we've 
become  engaged,  you  know,  and  I  can't  very  well  go 
away  without  leaving  her  a  ring,  you  see." 

"I  see!"  said  Mr.  Gassett  as  if  he  did  not  see  at  all. 

He  suggested  that  the  young  man  telegraph  for  funds; 
that  he  issue  a  draft  on  his  bank;  that  he  borrow  the 
cash;  that  he  bring  in  some  man  of  influence  to  stand 
sponsor  for  him;  that  he  give  a  note  with  a  satisfactory 
indorsement;  that  he  have  the  ring  put  aside  and  send 
the  money  back  from  New  York.  But  Wimburn  had  a 
suasive  answer  to  every  suggestion,  and  every  answer 

28 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

convinced  Mr.  Gassett  that  this  honest-looking  youth  was 
determined  not  to  depart  without  the  ring. 

Finally  the  credit  man  said:  "I  don't  suppose  you 
would  care  to  tell  me  who  your  fiancee  is.  That  might 
make  a  difference." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  tell  you?  I'm  certainly  not  ashamed 
to.  I  have  the  honor  to  be  engaged  to  Miss  Daphne  Kip." 

Mr.  Gassett  smiled.     "Not  old  Wesley  Kip's  girl?" 

"I  believe  I  did  hear  Miss  Kip  call  her  father  Wesley." 

Mr.  Gassett  laughed:  "Wes  is  an  old  crony  of  mine. 
So  you're  going  to  marry  his  daughter?" 

"That  is  my  intention." 

"And  take  her  off  the  old  man's  hands?" 

"Sir!" 

"  I  mean,  take  her  to  New  York?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  help  Wes  out,"  he  debated,  aloud. 
"I  suppose  I  might  take  a  chance.  Do  you  think  you 
can  pay  for  the  ring  in  ninety  days?" 

"Easily!" 

Wimburn  would  have  promised  to  tear  down  the  world 
and  rebuild  it  in  ninety  days. 

"I  shall  have  to  add  a  little  to  the  price  for  the  risk 
and  the  accommodation." 

"Anything  you  like,"  said  Clay,  magnificently. 

"Call  it  about  two  hundred  dollars." 

"Certainly!"  One  could  hardly  haggle  over  an  en- 
gagement ring. 

"I'll  ask  you  to  sign  a  little  document." 

"With  pleasure." 

He  would  have  signed  an  agreement  to  surrender  a 
pound  of  his  flesh.  While  Clay  waited  for  the  mortgage 
to  be  drawn  he  smiled  with  superiority  at  the  folly  of  the 
jeweler  who  put  a  higher  price  on  the  ring  to  cover  the 
risk;  for,  Wimburn  pondered,  if  he  did  not  pay,  the 
jeweler  would  lose  more  by  the  higher  price  than  by 
the  lower. 

29 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Clay  might  better  have  bethought  him  of  the  omens 
attending  a  marriage  begun  by  going  into  debt  for  the 
betrothal  symbol.  But  he  glanced  lightly  over  the  blood- 
curdling warrant  and  signed  it  with  a  dash.  Then  he 
hurried  out  to  find  Daphne  and  fasten  on  her  the  glittering 
gyve. 

He  might  have  taken  further  alarm  from  the  immense 
and  greedy  rapture  Daphne  revealed  at  the  sight  of  the 
petrified  dewdrop  set  in  the  golden  circlet.  Women  are 
all  misers  when  it  comes  to  diamonds. 

As  the  man  who  said  everything,  said: 

Dumb  jewels  often  in  their  silent  kind 

More  than  quick  words  do  move  a  woman's  mind. 

Wimburn  noted  only  the  joy  the  bauble  gave  to  Daphne, 
and  the  pretty  submissiveness  with  which  she  poked  out 
her  slender  finger  and  slid  it  into  the  fetter.  He  felt  that 
the  kiss  of  affiance  was  worth  years  of  hard  labor. 

Once  she  was  safely  installed  in  the  ring,  Daphne  grew 
very  sage. 

"It's  a  terrible  extravagance  for  you,  boy.  It's  really 
too  much  for  you  to  spend  on  just  only  me.  Better  take 
it  back." 

She  made  a  more  or  less  sincere  feint  at  removing  it. 
He  checked  her  with  a  hoarse  cry  of  protest. 

"Anyway,"  she  said,  yielding  weakly,  "we  mustn't  get 
married  till  you  are  awfully  comfortable  financially.  I 
wouldn't  be  a  burden  on  you  for  worlds." 

"A  burden!"  he  gasped.     "You'll  be  a  pair  of  wings." 

It  was  hard  and  bitter  to  rend  their  cemented  hearts 
in  twain,  but  he  had  to  go  at  last.  She  floated  him  to  the 
station  in  the  little  car,  and  waved  to  him  through  the 
iron  paling.  She  was  unimaginably  precious  and  pitiful 
as  she  stood  there,  and  he  wanted  to  blubber  when  the 
vestibule  was  slammed  shut  and  the  train  slid  out  of  the 
station  like  a  merciless  snake. 

3Q 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  vowed  that  he  would  work  with  the  strength  of 
ten  and  pile  up  a  fortune  in  the  bank  for  her.  But  first 
he  must  pile  up  enough  to  pay  for  that  solitaire.  He  had 
ninety  days'  leeway.  He  wondered  how  he  could  live  so 
long  without  her,  and  he  had  a  feeling  that  he  really  must 
be  adding  a  plain  gold  band  to  her  bonds  long  before  the 
end  of  the  ninety-day  respite  for  the  engagement  ring. 


CHAPTER  V 

WE  rapidly  adjust  our  needs  to  our  abilities,  and 
science  has  never  been  swift  enough  to  outrun 
the  demands  made  on  it.  In  earlier  days  when  there 
were  no  railroads,  no  steamships,  and  no  electric  messages, 
lovers  parted  for  long  periods  and  seem  to  have  been  no 
more  tortured  by  the  delay  of  a  tide-bound  sailing-vessel 
or  a  storm-checked  mail-coach  than  lovers  of  nowadays 
are  by  a  retarded  telegram. 

Telegraphy,  which  should  have  kept  these  lovers  re- 
assured, served  rather  to  keep  them  in  torment.  The  long- 
distance engagement  was  a  restless  affair.  The  new 
systein  of  telegraphic  night  and  day  letters  was  not  an 
economy,  but  an  expense.  They  could  now  send  fifty 
words  for  a  little  more  than  the  price  of  ten,  but  words 
breed  words,  and  answers  breed  new  questions. 

Clay  wrote  Daphne  a  fat  letter  every  day.  He  usually 
sneaked  it  in  among  his  business  correspondence  and  took 
great  pains  that  it  should  never  miss  the  Lake  Shore 
Limited  at  five-thirty  in  the  afternoon.  A  special-delivery 
stamp  put  the  letter  in  Daphne's  hands  every  next  fore- 
noon. 

But  after  the  letter  had  gone  he  usually  remembered 
that  he  had  omitted  to  include  some  message  of  fright- 
fully important  urgence.  So  he  had  to  send  her  every 
night  a  night  letter,  and  frequently  of  mornings  he  must 
fire  off  a  day  letter.  These  cost  only  sixty  cents  apiece, 
but  often  he  had  to  send  them  in  double  or  triple  length. 

For  occasions  where  time  was  yet  more'  unendurable 
there  was  the  telephone:  a  pittance  of  three  dollars  and 

32 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

twenty-five  cents  for  the  first  three  minutes,  and  a  dollar 
and  five  cents  for  each  additional  minute  or  fraction 
thereof,  would  bring  his  lips  to  Daphne's  ear. 

And  this  extravagance  was  his  final  destruction,  since 
her  voice  came  over  the  long  wire  with  such  an  eerie  tone 
that  his  free  hand  involuntarily  reached  out  to  touch  her. 
But  his  arm  was  considerably  less  than  six  hundred  miles 
long,  and  the  ironic  anguishes  of  Tantalus  were  his. 

From  the  little  rubber  mouth  of  the  receiver  her  voice 
came  to  him  as  from  a  distant  star  by  interplanetary  com- 
munication. The  sense  of  remoteness  was  unbearable. 
She  seemed  to  be  dead  and  wailing  across  eternity. 

The  torments  of  lovers  are  no  less  severe  for  being 
innumerable,  trite,  and  unimportant  to  outsiders.  Clay 
Wimburn  was  in  complete  distress.  His  health  wavered, 
and  his  office  work  suffered  till  it  won  rebukes  and  threats 
from  his  chiefs,  and  comment  even  from  Bayard  Kip, 
who  never  suspected  and  was  never  told  of  Wimburn's 
infatuation  for  his  sister. 

With  lover's  logic  Wimburn  persuaded  himself  that  the 
only  one  who  could  save  him  from  destruction  was 
Daphne.  With  her  married  and  all,  and  ensconced  in  a 
little  nest  in  New  York,  he  could  take  up  his  office  tasks 
with  a  whole  heart.  And  though  he  was  in  a  state  of 
hopeless  unpreparedness  financially,  he  began  to  think 
that  it  would  be  nearly  as  cheap  to  keep  Daphne  installed 
in  New  York  as  to  keep  her  informed  in  Cleveland.  Be- 
sides, there  was  the  old  and  toothless  saw,  "two  can  live 
as  cheaply  as  one." 

So  he  began  to  write,  and  to  telegraph,  and  to  groan 
across  the  living  wire  wilder  and  wilder  cries  for  help. 

Daphne  wept  back  and  repaid  his  longings  in  kind  and 
suffered  heartrending  ecstasies  of  yearning.  And  finally 
she  promised  frantically  to  marry  him  without  further 
delay. 

With  a  desire  to  economize  in  pain  she  broke  the  double 
news  to  her  two  parents  at  the  same  time,  telling  them 
2  33 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

both  that  she  was  engaged  and  that  she  was  about  to 
wed. 

They  were  stunned.  They  had  never  experienced  a 
suspicion  of  the  acute  state  of  Daphne's  heart  affairs. 
They  had  been  vaguely  aware  that  she  received  messages 
of  various  sorts  from  young  men.  But  that  was  part  of 
the  business  of  being  a  young  woman,  and  they  had  been 
glad  to  have  Daphne  at  work.  They  would  have  been 
alarmed  only  if  she  had  had  no  messages  from  young  men. 
They  had  never  dreamed  that  all  her  young  men  were  one 
young  man. 

It  is  really  astounding  how  blind  parents  are  to  their 
children's  activities  and  how  much  can  go  on  under  their 
noses  without  catching  their  heavy  eyes. 

Daphne  easily  browbeat  her  father  and  mother  into 
consenting  to  her  early  marriage.  Her  father  groaned  at 
the  thought  of  the  wedding  expenses,  but  consoled  himself 
with  a  Pisgah-sight  of  the  Canaan  when  the  last  of  his 
dear  children  should  be  living  at  another  man's  cost. 

Her  mother  decently  wept  to  think  of  losing  her  chick, 
yet  drew  a  comfortable  breath  at  the  thought  that  she 
had  done  a  mother's  errands.  She  had  accepted  a  soul 
from  the  invisible,  wrapped  it  in  an  envelope  of  flesh,  and 
carried  the  increasing  bundle  till  she  had  delivered  it  to 
the  consignee,  a  husband.  She  had  earned  her  evening 
off. 

Mrs.  Kip  made  one  stipulation:  "I  won't  let  Daphne 
sneak  away  to  New  York  and  be  married  by  a  justice  of  the 
peace  or  a  coroner  or  whoever  does  such  things  in  New 
York.  She  must  have  a  church  wedding  and  a  home 
reception." 

Daphne  accepted  this  unanimously,  with  one  amend- 
ment. 

"I  must  go  to  New  York  to  get  my  trousseau." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Kip. 

<lOf  course  not!"  said  Mr.  Kip. 

"Why  not?"  said  Mrs.  Kip. 

34 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"The  expense  is  the  why  not!  What's  the  use  of 
spending  a  fortune  on  clothes  ?  The  money  that  goes  out 
for  these  honeymoons  might  better  be  turned  into  the 
wedding  fund.  Lord  knows,  Daphne  will  need  dollars 
more  than  she  needs  duds  if  she  marries  that  young 
fellow." 

When  his  women-folk  shook  their  heads  patiently  he 
meekly  suggested,  "It  would  be  a  right  nice  idea  if 
Daphne  should  wear  the  same  gown  her  mother  was 
married  in." 

He  had  read  of  such  a  thing  being  done  somewhere,  and 
it  struck  him  as  a  lovely  sentiment.  And  it  cost  nothing. 

When  he  heard  the  ridicule  this  proposal  aroused  he 
withdrew  it  hastily.  Besides,  his  own  wife  had  not  done 
what  bookish  brides  do.  She  had  not  cherished  her  wed- 
ding-robe as  a  sacred  relic.  She  might  have  acquired  a 
grudge  against  it  instead,  if  it  had  not  disintegrated  into 
other  uses.  Ages  ago  she  had  used  the  veil  as  a  lace 
trimming  on  a  dinner  gown,  and  the  bodice  she  had  had 
dyed  twice,  and  the  skirt  remodeled.  Eventually,  when 
she  dared  not  wear  it  any  longer,  she  had  sent  it  as  a  gift 
to  a  still  poorer  relation. 

When  Daphne's  father  was  overridden  on  this  point  he 
revived  sufficiently  to  make  a  desperate  attack  on  each 
item  of  expenditure  for  Daphne's  wardrobe.  He  blustered 
and  filibustered  like  a  watch-dog  of  the  Treasury. 

Daphne  could  not  realize  from  what  years  of  financial 
torment  he  had  gained  the  habit  of  fighting  every  penny 
that  rose  in  the  budget.  To  the  young  girl  in  the  exulta- 
tion of  making  ready  for  the  consummation  of  romance 
and  the  pious  longing  to  go  to  the  altar  most  fitly,  there 
was  something  loathsome  about  the  wrangle  over  prices. 

She  broke  out  at  last  in  a  revolt  against  his  nagging. 
"Oh,  but  I'll  be  glad  to  be  free  from  this  everlasting  talk 
of  money,  money,  money!  I  hate  it.  I  hate  to  take  it 
from  you.  If  it  weren't  for  the  disgrace  I'd  bring  to  you 
and  mamma  I  wouldn't  accept  a  cent;  I'd  be  married  in 

35 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

my  old  bath-robe.  Thank  Heaven,  I'm  marrying  a  man 
who  doesn't  hang  on  to  every  penny  like  grim  death." 

In  her  own  heart  she  did  not  realize  what  a  grievous 
wound  she  dealt  the  battered  old  heart  of  her  father  till 
he  sighed: 

"I  was  like  him  when  I  was  his  age.  Maybe  he'll  be 
like  me  when  he's  mine.  If  I  had  been  more  of  a  miser 
then,  I  guess  I'd  be  less  of  one  now." 

Then  Daphne  caught  the  hunted,  hounded  look  behind 
his  spectacles,  and  flung  herself  in  his  arms,  weeping: 
"Forgive  me,  daddy.  I'm  a  little  "beast  to  talk  to  you  so. 
I  don't  mean  it.  I'm  just  excited.  I'll  get  only  the 
simplest  things,  and  some  day  when  Clay  and  I  are  rich 
I'll  pay  you  back  a  thousandfold." 

He  patted  her  and  kissed  her  gawkily;  and,  manlike, 
having  gained  his  point,  threw  it  away: 

"You  get  whatever  is  best  and  nicest.  You're  the 
pirtiest  girl  in  Ohio,  and  you're  going  to  have  the  finest 
wedding  ever  was  seen  in  Cleveland.  And  I'll  find  the 
money  all  right,  never  you  fear." 

He  had  just  remembered  a  bit  of  real  estate  that  had  not 
yet  been  decorated  with  a  second  mortgage.  He  had 
bought  it  secretly  with  the  proceeds  of  a  windfall.  That 
was  his  double  life.  Instead  of  spending  money  surrep- 
titiously on  dissipations,  when  he  had  a  bit  of  luck  he 
sneaked  out  and  invested  it  in  something  he  could  bor- 
row money  on  in  a  crisis.  The  crisis  never  failed  him. 

So  Daphne  wrote  to  her  brother  that  she  was  coming 
to  New  York  to  buy  a  trousseau  for  her  wedding  to  the 
dearest  boy  on  earth,  whose  name  she  would  not  tell  him 
till  she  saw  him.  And  would  he  look  after  her  a  bit  and 
find  her  a  place  to  stay? 

Her  letter  crossed  a  letter  from  Bayard,  who  began  it 
with  his  regular  apology  for  his  unavoidable  delay  in 
writing  home. 

He  was  used  to  dictating  his  correspondence,  but  he  had 
done  this  letter  in  longhand  as  a  business  man's  superlative 

36 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

tribute.  Also  he  was  afraid  of  his  stenographer.  He 
poured  his  most  intimate  office  secrets  into  her  impersonal 
left  ear,  but  he  could  imagine  how  that  receiver  would 
twitch  and  perk  and  redden  at  this  announcement. 

And  so  he  wrote  it  all  out  himself  in  a  kind  of  pink 
ink,  with  a  quaint  mingling  of  commercial  and  amorous 
cant.  He  had  been  through  college,  but  had  got  bravely 
over  any  little  influence  the  classics  may  have  had  upon 
him. 

DEAREST  MOTHER,  DAD,  AND  Sis, — Received  several  sweet 
letters  from  you,  mother,  and  meant  to  answer,  but  been  very 
busy.  These  hard  times  forced  us  to  cut  down  staff  and  threw 
extra  work  on  men  retained.  But  business  has  been  so  bad  so 
long  it  can't  get  any  worse.  Bound  to  get  better. 

So  I'm  going  to — don't  drop  dead  yet — I'm  going  to  get 
married.  Found  the  angel  of  the  world.  Known  it  for  a 
long  time;  been  engaged  a  year,  waiting  to  get  rich  enough 
to  place  her  where  she  belongs.  Not  there  yet,  but  can't  stand 
bachelorhood  any  longer. 

Been  meaning  to  write  you  and  ask  blessings,  etc.,  but  the 
angel  and  yours  truly  have  been  so  busy  picking  out  a  dove-cote 
and  furniture  to  fit  it,  haven't  had  a  minute  to  call  my  own. 

Wedding  date  not  settled  yet,  but  probably  some  time  in 
June.  That  would  make  a  good  song,  "Some  time  in  June." 
Will  let  you  know  exact  date.  Would  be  overjoyed  to  have 
the  family  here  to  sprinkle  the  rice  and  do  the  old-shoe  stunt, 
but  regret  can't  spare  funds  to  pay  the  freight  myself.  Hope 
dad  can,  but  suppose  he  feels  the  hard  times,  too.  Anyway, 
wedding  is  to  be  quiet  affair. 

Daphne  looked  up  to  interpolate,  "He  means  to  say 
we're  entirely  welcome,  provided  we  don't  come." 

"We  certainly  must  go,"  said  Mrs.  Kip. 

"On  what?"  said  Mr.  Kip,  grimly.  "Where's  all  the 
money  to  come  from?" 

"You'll  have  to  find  it.  Do  you  think  I'd  miss  my 
boy's  wedding?" 

"Two  weddings  are  worse  than  a  fire,"  said  Wesley, 

37 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

dolefully.  "You  no  sooner  hold  me  up  for  Daphne's 
trousseau  than  you  sandbag  me  with  this  trip  to  New 
York.  And  there'll  be  a  big  wedding-present  to  pay  for, 
too.  Whew!  I  guess  I'll  go  down  and  jump  in  the  lake, 
and  let  the  insurance  company  buy  the  wedding-present." 

"It's  just  like  you  to  get  stingy  at  such  a  time — of  all 
times!"  Mrs.  Kip  railed.  She  had  had  about  thirty 
years  of  daily  penny-wrangle,  and  her  nerves  were  so  raw 
that  a  reluctant  grimace  was  enough  sometimes  to  throw 
her  into  a  tirade. 

Her  husband  was  equally  hyperssthesiac,  and  a  battle 
vulgar  could  always  be  precipitated  at  a  moment's  notice. 

But  Daphne  had  long  ceased  to  be  excited  by  the  ever- 
recurrent  financial  scrimmage,  and  she  broke  in  now  with 
a  dreary,  "Can't  we  postpone  the  first  round  till  after 
I  finish  reading  the  letter?" 

There  was  more  heartache  than  humiliation  in  the  way 
their  angers  collapsed  and  retreated.  As  two  quarreling 
dogs,  hearing  their  mistress's  voice,  skulk  apart  and  begin 
to  fawn  upon  her,  so  they  turned  to  their  child  with  eyes 
full  of  deprecation  and  appeal. 

Daphne,  with  the  condescending  patience  of  an  Amer- 
ican child  for  her  parents,  read  on  to  the  end. 

Silence  followed  the  document.  And  there  are  few 
documents  that  mean  so  much  to  every  family  as  that 
bearing  the  news  that  one  of  the  children  has  gone  into 
the  world  and  found  a  mate,  and  given  up  the  ancient  loy- 
alty for  a  new. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  two  old  Kips  sat  brooding  over  their  mystery. 
The  fruit  of  their  almost  forgotten  romance,  the 
little  squalling,  helpless  baby  that  had  come  to  them  and 
strangely  evolved  into  a  great,  grown  man,  was  now  in 
the  toils  of  romance  in  his  turn.  He  had  found,  in  a  far 
city,  somebody  there  that  he  loved  better  than  his  family 
or  his  friends  or  his  freedom. 

He  gave  no  clue  to  what  she  was  or  whence,  or  how  she 
looked,  or  how  she  would  deal  with  the  soul  of  their  boy. 
Was  she  Lilith  or  Ruth,  Jezebel  or  Martha?  Their  son's 
life  was  already  a  success  with  promise  of  triumph.  Would 
she  wreck  it  or  help  it?  Refill  him  with  ambition  every 
day,  or  play  Delilah  to  his  Samson? 

They  did  not  know  her;  but  they  knew  life,  and  they 
dreaded  love. 

Their  thoughts  came  back  from  their  son  to  the  daugh- 
ter sitting  before  them,  smiling  at  her  brother's  confession 
of  the  same  emotions  that  had  captured  her.  She,  too, 
was  a  mystery — almost  a  greater  mystery  than  the  son, 
for  the  very  reason  that  she  was  before  them  in  the  flesh — 
such  pretty  flesh,  so  round,  so  glowing,  so  perilous.  And 
then  a  woman  always  seems  to  be  more  of  a  mystery  than 
a  man,  partly,  no  doubt,  because  she  so  rarely  explains 
herself.  She  keeps  one  secret;  perhaps  because  she  does 
not  know  it  herself — or  else  has  none  to  keep.  Or  has 
forgotten  it. 

In  any  case  here  was  Daphne.  The  proud  kitten  had 
brought  in  the  mouse  she  had  captured,  and  she  was 
purring  like  a  coffee-grinder.  Her  parents  knew  little 

39 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

more  of  Clay  Wimburn  after  seeing  him  a  few  times  than 
they  knew  of  Bayard's  girl,  whom  they  had  not  seen  at  all. 
They  knew  that  Clay  Wimburn  was  not  half  good  enough 
for  Daphne.  They  had  hoped  for  a  prince  of  power, 
wealth,  and  charm,  all  the  virtues,  graces,  and  successes 
in  one  composite  miracle.  But  Wimburn  was  just  a  nice 
young  fellow.  They  saw  him  without  illusion,  while  they 
saw  their  daughter  with  hardly  anything  else  but  illusion. 
She  was  as  far  as  possible  from  being  to  them  just  an 
ordinary,  nice  young  girl. 

As  the  event  revealed,  she  was  indeed  something  more 
than  that. 

Daphne  was  delighted  at  first,  realizing  that  her  letter 
to  her  brother  would  not  bring  forth  the  sarcasms  she 
had  feared.  Then  she  realized  that  the  news  of  his 
marriage  would  throw  her  own  plans  into  disarray.  She 
sighed: 

"I  suppose  I'd  better  postpone  my  wedding  till  we  get 
Bayard  off  our  hands." 

"That's  a  fine  idea!"  her  father  exclaimed.  It  was 
always  a  joy  to  him  to  defer  an  expense.  Mrs.  Kip 
flung  him  a  glare,  and  Daphne  rolled  her  eyes  in  distress, 
but  he  redeemed  himself  with  an  unexpectedly  graceful 
turn.  "  It  lets  us  keep  Daphne  with  us  a  little  longer." 

Daphne  wrote  this  new  decision  to  Clay.  He  sent  back 
a  letter  that  fairly  howled  with  protest.  He  had  been 
getting  better  of  his  loneliness  in  the  promise  of  a  speedy 
marriage;  the  postponement  threw  him  into  a  profound 
relapse. 

When  Daphne  told  her  parents  of  Clay's  anguish  they 
made  light  of  it.  It  was  a  long,  long  while  since  they  had 
been  young.  They  had  learned  that  marriages  contain 
surprises  that  may  sometimes  be  postponed  without  mis- 
fortune. 

Bayard  did  not  write  for  several  days.  Then  his  letter 
turned  everything  topsy-turvy  again.  This  time  he  wrote 
to  Daphne: 

40 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

DEAR  Sis, — Yours  of  no  date  (as  usual)  received  and  beauti- 
ful contents  noted.  I  can  hardly  believe  that  my  little  Sis  is 
announcing  intention  to  join  the  procession  and  get  married,  too. 
You're  more  sensible  than  I  used  to  think.  This  is  subject  to 
revision  when  I  know  who  the  lucky  man  is.  Who  is  he? 
Some  Cleveland  Appolo  (or  however  you  spell  it),  I  suppose. 

Clay  Wimburn — you  remember  him — says  you  are  a  great 
favorite  out  there.  He  spoke  very  flatteringly  of  you  all — 
especially  mother.  Of  course  I  didn't  tell  him  of  your  marriage. 
No  use  announcing  those  things  till  they  happen,  because  they 
generally  sometimes  don't. 

But,  anyway,  when  I  told  Leila  that  you  were  going  to  step 
off  into  space,  too,  she  shrieked  with  joy  and  danced  up  and 
down.  You  ought  to  see  how  pretty  she  is  when  she  acts 
that  way.  Well,  she  said  we  simply  must  have  one  grand 
double  wedding.  It  appealed  to  her  romantic  nature  and  at 
same  time  to  my  business  instinct — get  wholesale  rates  on 
parson,  and  church  organist,  florist,  etc.,  etc.  Saves  wear  and 
tear  on  ushers  and  bridesmaids  and  requires  only  one  set  of 
gifts  for  them. 

But  before  I  could  write  you  about  the  double-barreled 
wedding  idea  a  bombshell  exploded  in  the  office.  Heads  of 
firm  decided  that  since  we  can't  sell  any  goods  in  America, 
might  try  England.  They  want  me  to  go  over  at  once  and  see 
what  can  be  done  about  establishing  a  selling  agency  in  dear 
old  Lunnon,  doncher  know.  And  so  now  I  intend  to  combine 
business  trip,  vacation,  and  honeymoon  in  same  voyage. 

No  time  for  bride  to  get  trousseau.  Have  to  buy  that  abroad. 
She's  willing,  though,  to  oblige  me.  She  says  a  wife's  first 
duty  is  to  sacrifice  herself  to  her  husband's  career.  And, 
besides,  clothes  are  cheaper  abroad  and  styles  much  later. 
So  we  get  married  Thursday  and  sail  Saturday.  Just  time  to 
get  settled  in  our  dove-cote  before  leaving. 

Was  worrying  over  not  being  able  to  accept  your  kind  offer 
to  pay  me  a  visit.  Then  the  blessed  wifelet  darlingly  suggested 
that  her  sweet  sister-in-law-to-be  should  come  to  New  York 
and  make  our  apartment  her  home  while  she  shops. 

We  won't  get  back  from  honeymoon  hike  for  six  weeks  at  least. 
You  and  mother  just  settle  down  there  until  you  have  finished 
shopping.  Will  leave  key  and  instructions  with  superintendent. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

The  letter  ended  with  the  usual  oceans  of  love  and  kisses 
and  the  usual  haste.  It  set  the  family  to  pondering.  Old 
Wesley  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  his  train  of  thought 
startled  the  women: 

"So  he's  going  to  get  married  to-morrow.  That's 
awful  sudden!  Saves  us  buyid£  a  wedding  -  present, 
though!"  When  he  had  recovered  from  the  impact  of 
his  wife's  look  he  saved  himself  again  with  a  quick,  plead- 
ing suggestion:  "What  I  was  thinking  of  was — it  leaves 
more  money  for  Daphne's  trousseau." 

The  poor  wretch  had  grown  used  to  seeing  unexpected 
gifts  of  fortune  float  into  view  like  little  soap-bubbles, 
drift  close  in  iridescent  loveliness,  and  then  wink  out,  leav- 
ing hardly  a  damp  spot. 

He  was  used  to  seeing  his  money-bubbles  vanish,  but 
he  never  could  see  the  joke  of  it. 

As  soon  as  he  had  bravely  added  what  he  had  saved 
from  his  son's  wedding  to  what  he  had  already  voted  to  his 
daughter's  trousseau  he  was  doomed  to  learn  that  Daphne 
could  not  start  East  to  buy  clothes  to  get  married  in 
until  she  had  bought  some  clothes  to  start  East  in.  And, 
besides  that,  she  could  not  go  Bast  alone,  and  her  mother 
could  not  go  with  her  unless  her  mother  had  also  some 
new  clothes  to  tide  her  mother  over  till  her  mother  could 
get  to  New  York  and  buy  some  clothes  to  stay  married  in. 

Wesley  shook  his  head  in  despair  and  cast  his  eyes  up 
in  an  ironic  apostrophe:  "O  Lord!  O  Lord!  Why  did 
You  go  and  make  that  first  suit  of  clothes?  Adam  and 
Eve  were  satisfied  with  fresh  fig  leaves,  but  You  had  to 
teach  'em  to  make  clothes." 

He  always  protested,  but  he  always  yielded.  He  had 
resigned  himself  to  the  lowly  office  of  money-transmitter; 
the  sole  remnant  of  the  liberties  he  had  inherited  as  an 
American  citizen  was  his  jealously  guarded  right  of  sar- 
casm. It  was  a  poor  thing,  but  his  own. 

"And  you  got  to  buy  clothes  to  buy  clothes  in!"  he 
mumbled.  "Why,  if  this  house  was  to  catch  fire,  I  don't 

42 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

doubt  but  what  you  wouldn't  budge  till  you'd  fitted  your- 
selves out  with  a  fire-escape  trousseau." 

Daphne  and  her  mother  accepted  the  steam  as  reassur- 
ing proof  that  the  safety-valve  was  working.  He  would 
not  explode~yet.  But  Daphne  was  hurt  enough  to  say: 

"I'm  sorry,  daddy.  I'm  doing  my  best  to  take  myself 
off  your  hands.  I'll  buy  just  as  little  as  I  can,  and  I'll 
feel  as  uncomfortable  as  possible  in  that — if  that's  any 
comfort  to  you." 

He  tried  to  put  forth  his  ancient  plea — true  enough,  but 
rather  worn  with  overwork: 

"It's  not  that!  I  want  you  to  have  nice  things,  but 
I  get  kind  of  scared  for  fear  something  might  happen.  I 
keep  thinking  of  to-morrow — and  the  day  after — and  next 
year." 

Daphne's  heart  was  full  of  conflicting  impulses.  Unable 
to  give  precedence  to  any  one,  she  went  up  to  her  room  to 
express  them  all  in  inarticulate  sobs  over  the  multiplex 
annoyance  of  the  world. 

Mrs.  Kip  rose  heavily  and  said:  "I  really  think  that 
even  you  might  spare  the  poor  child  a  little  of  your 
nagging.  I've  had  it  for  years,  but  she — " 

"Can't  you  understand  what  I  mean?"  he  cried  in  his 
anguish. 

But  she  walked  out,  too.  For  who  ever  understood 
what  anybody  else  ever  meant?  Who  ever  understood 
what  he  himself  meant? 

Wesley  Kip  really  wanted  to  jump  into  the  lake,  but 
he  was  not  of  the  deserter  breed.  He  stormed  out  of  the 
house  as  if  he  were  going  to  rewrite  his  will  and  leave  his 
money  to  a  bachelor's  home.  He  actually  went  forth  to 
peddle  that  second  mortgage.  This  was  a  commodity 
not  easy  to  dispose  of,  and  it  took  him  a  week  or  two  to  find 
a  purchaser,  and  then  he  paid  an  ingeniously  disguised 
usury  for  it.  But  he  got  the  cash. 

It  irked  his  business  soul  to  rob  what  had  been  a  good 
investment  of  all  profit  in  order  to  spend  what  he  pawned 

43 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

it  for  in  buying  fragile  gewgaws.  It  was  like  grubbing 
out  nuggets  to  exchange  them  for  chocolate  drops.  But 
everybody  always  does  it,  and  nobody  likes  those  who 
don't. 

When  he  came  home  he  had  worn  out  his  wrath  and 
stifled  his  commercial  conscience,  and  he  proudly  an- 
nounced that  Daphne  and  her  mother  could  start  for  New 
York  as  soon  as  they'd  a  mind  to.  They  had  a  mind 
to  as  soon  as  their  clothes  were  ready,  but  Mrs.  Kip 
caught  cold  and  was  kept  in  the  house  for  several  days. 
Then  Mr.  Kip  had  a  bilious  attack,  and  his  wife  would 
neither  leave  him  nor  cease  scolding  him  till  he  was 
well. 

At  last  he  accompanied  them  to  the  train.  He  was 
not  even  to  have  the  doleful  luxury  of  seeing  them  spend 
his  money.  But  he  put  a  brave  front  on  his  folly,  and 
his  last  words  to  Daphne  were : 

"Have  a  good  time,  honey,  and  if  you  see  anything  you 
absolutely  got  to  have,  just  you  get  it.  And  if  the  money 
you  got  isn't  enough,  why,  I'll  get  more  somehow.  You 
can  usually  depend  on  your  old  dad  to  do  his  best." 

He  felt  repaid  when  his  beautiful  child  cried,  "  I  know  I 
can!  you  angel!"  and  reached  high  and  drew  his  head 
down  like  a  faithful  camel's.  He  never  told  her  that  she 
was  squeezing  his  eye-glasses  into  his  nose.  He  managed 
not  to  sneeze  at  the  exquisite  agony  of  her  curls  tickling 
his  nostrils;  and  she  feasted  his  hungry  ear  with  eager 
gratitude: 

"You're  the  best  and  wonderfulest  man  that  ever  lived, 
daddy,  and  the  only  thing  that  consoles  me  about  leaving 
you  is  that  after  this  I  won't  be  such  an  awful  expense  to 
you.  I  hate  myself  for  taking  all  this  money  from  your 
poor  old  tired  hands,  but  it's  the  last,  daddy;  it's  the  last. 
You  can  rest  now  awhile,  and  I'll  have  a  beautiful  home 
where  you  can  come  and  visit  me  and  live  at  my  expense." 

"You  mustn't  feel  thataway,  honey,"  he  said,  as  he 
lifted  his  misty  spectacles  from  his  aching  nose.  He 

44 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

kissed  her  and  patted  her  and  felt  unspeakably  gawky, 
but  very  proud  and  full  of  blissful  heartache. 

And  then  he  faced  the  farewell  to  his  wife.  He  felt 
more  embarrassment  now  than  at  that  remote  period  when 
he  kissed  her  the  first  time.  She  was  a  stranger  in  a  rosy 
cloud  then,  and  he  was  a  daring  young  wooer. 

But  now  he  was  grizzly  where  he  was  not  bald,  and  she 
was  fat  and  stodgy.  And  she  had  collected  so  many 
grievances  against  him  that  he  felt  sure  she  would  rather 
bite  him  than  kiss  him. 

And  she  felt  the  same  of  him.  She  forgot  what  things 
she  had  called  him,  but  remembered  the  things  he  had 
called  her  in  his  anger,  and  they  represented  to  her  his 
real  feelings  for  her.  Yet  in  a  deep  undercurrent  their 
love  flowed  as  strongly  and  vitally  and  hiddenly  as  their 
blood.  And  their  hearts  wished  to  reveal  as  well  as  to 
behold  it. 

But  the  habit  of  rancor  subdued  them,  and  the  power 
of  spontaneity  was  gone.  If  only  they  had  not  fought  so 
much  about  money !  If  he  had  been  less  reluctant  or  she 
less  exacting! 

Still  they  felt  that  their  daughter  was  watching  them 
and  yearning  over  them.  The  old  r6te  must  be  played. 
They  must  kiss  each  other  good-by.  They  might  never 
see  each  other  again.  That  thought  pierced  through  to 
the  quick,  but  they  kept  postponing  the  salute  till  the 
final  moment.  He  kept  looking  forward,  wondering  how 
much  longer  it  would  take  to  get  the  baggage-car  loaded. 
She  kept  talking  to  Daphne. 

At  last  the  porter  said,  "All  abo'd,  if  you  please." 
Daphne  assailed  her  father  with  a  last  embrace  and  kiss. 
Then  he  and  his  wife  faced  each  other  foolishly,  em- 
braced in  a  wooden  awkwardness  and  let  their  lips  bounce 
off  each  other's  cheeks. 

The  women-folk  climbed  the  steps,  and  the  porter  fol- 
lowed them  up  and  made  the  vestibule  door  fast. 

When  Daphne  and  her  mother  were  seated  Mrs.  Kip 

45 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

tried  to  look  back  through  the  window.  She  saw  her  only 
husband  blurred  through  the  double  glass.  He  waved 
to  her.  And  she  waved  to  him.  As  she  settled  back  in 
her  curves  a  fat  tear  or  two  came  out  on  her  cheeks,  to 
their  great  surprise.  Daphne  caught  her  mother's  hand 
and  spoke  hungrily : 

"You  do  love  him  then,  don't  you?  Please  say  you 
do!" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  Mrs.  Kip  stormed  back.  "Why 
shouldn't  I  ?  He's  a  fine  man.  He's  been  awful  good  to 
you  children." 

That  night  Wesley  Kip  dined  at  his  club,  to  the  intense 
amazement  of  the  regular  army. 

"What's  this?"  one  of  them  snarled,  amiably.  "Wife 
dead  or  getting  a  divorce?" 

" Neither,  thank  God !"  said  Mr.  Kip.  "She's  just  gone 
down  to  New  York  to  buy  herself  and  the  daughter  a  few 
duds.  Great  manager,  m'  wife." 

He  tried  to  play  a  game  of  pool,  but  he  was  so  absent- 
minded  and  so  out  of  practice  that  the  old  guard  laughed 
him  home.  He  found  the  house  full  of  a  pleasant,  tender 
loneliness.  She  had  not  failed  to  leave  his  things  in  order. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DAPHNE  and  her  mother  had  been  to  New  York  often 
enough,  but  never  on  such  an  errand.     The  train 
left  Cleveland  at  six-thirty-five  and  they  made  their  first 
haste  to  the  dining-car. 

"Funny,  how  good  everything  tastes  away  from  home," 
said  Mrs.  Kip,  who  loved  her  food  and  hated  the  lifelong 
necessity  of  ordering  her  dinner  right  after  breakfast  every 
morning — ordering  it  raw  from  butcher  and  baker  and 
groaning  over  the  price  of  it  by  the  pound.  It  was  in- 
finitely pleasanter  to  select  it  from  a  catalogue  and  have  it 
whisked  on  by  a  black  in  white. 

At  the  same  table  with  them  a  brace  of  traveling-men 
regarded  the  bill  of  fare  with  dejection.  One  of  them 
groaned,  "Nothing  at  all  to  eat,"  and  the  other,  "I'd  give 
my  right  eye  for  a  little  home  cooking." 

After  the  dinner  Mrs.  Kip  and  Daphne,  replete  and  con- 
tent, took  up  the  question  of  their  errand  to  New  York. 

"We  must  make  a  list  of  exactly  what  you  have  to 
have,"  said  Mrs.  Kip. 

"And  not  go  beyond  it,"  said  Daphne.  "And  bring 
home  as  much  as  we  can  of  what  poor  old  daddy  gave  us. 
It  would  tickle  him  to  death  to  have  us  save  something." 

"  I  guess  he's  pretty  safe  from  that  form  of  death,"  said 
Mrs.  Kip. 

Daphne  slept  little  that  night  in  her  Pullman  pigeon- 
hole ;  she  was  too  busy  with  her  thoughts,  and  the  wheels 
made  a  banjo  of  the  rails.  But  she  was  glad  of  her  in- 
somnia. Even  better  than  sleeping  well  is  staying  awake 
well. 

47 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Breakfast  was  a  banquet  in  a  dining-room  rushing  head- 
long down  the  border  of  the  Hudson.  The  train  was  on 
time  and  rolled  chariot-smoothly  into  the  Grand  Central 
station.  Clay  Wimburn  was  there  by  special  dispensation 
from  the  office,  and  he  had  had  the  forethought  to  secure 
a  permit  to  come  down  to  the  platform.  He  told  the 
station-master  that  he  had  a  crippled  aunt  to  meet.  He 
did  not  tell  Mrs.  Kip  that.  He  let  her  believe  that  all 
doors  opened  to  him. 

Daphne  had  not  finished  pointing  out  her  hand-luggage 
to  the  redcap  when  Clay's  arms  were  about  her.  She 
turned  to  draw  her  trusty  "Sir!"  but  he  smothered  it  on 
her  lips.  He  charged  her  mother  next,  and  kissed  her 
well,  saying : 

"That's  not  for  Bayard;  that's  for  me.  How  are  you, 
<  mamma!" 

Mrs.  Kip  blushed  and  squealed  as  she  had  squealed 
long  ago  when  her  first  lover  stole  the  first  kiss. 

After  making  arrangements  about  the  baggage  with 
magnificence  and  tipping  the  porter  like  a  freshly  baked 
millionaire,  Clay  taxicabbed  them  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bayard's  apartment-house,  a  towering  habitable  chimney 
on  Fifty-ninth  Street,  overlooking  Central  Park  and 
Columbus  Circle. 

They  entered  with  a  kind  of  awe.  Seeing  the  bride's 
home  before  they  saw  the  bride  had  something  of  the 
criminal  rapture  of  reading  other  people's  letters.  There 
was  no  servant  to  greet  them;  a  maid  in  the  building 
would  come  in  every  day  for  a  few  hours  "to  straighten 
up."  Their  meals  were  to  be  secured  from  the  restaurant 
in  the  building. 

"Everything's  done  for  you,"  Mrs.  Kip  sighed,  luxuri- 
ously. "It's  wonderful." 

Once  inside  the  apartment,  Daphne  and  Clay  had  to 
perform  their  greetings  all  over  again,  while  Mrs.  Kip 
went  spying  about  looking  at  things  and  murmuring  a 
reverent  "Real!"  or  an  irreverent  "Really!" 

48 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Clay  and  Daphne  ignored  her.  They  were  billing  and 
cooing  like  two  love-birds.  At  length  they  took  the 
trouble  to  look  about  them  at  the  merely  material  world. 

The  convenience  and  ingenuity  of  the  apartment  en- 
chanted Daphne.  It  seemed  impossible  that  all  this  lux- 
ury, this  ozone  of  wealth,  could  be  secured  in  so  small  a 
space,  on  part  of  one  floor,  the  twelfth  floor  of  a  building. 
Everything  came  up  in  baskets  by  pulley — people,  food, 
everything;  it  was  like  a  Carthusian  monastery  in  the 
mountains — with  some  differences. 

From  the  windows  one  looked  out  on  the  corner  of 
Central  Park  where  the  brand-new  monument  to  the 
sailors  of  the  Maine  deployed  its  masses,  opposite  the  big 
prostrate  wheel  of  Columbus  Circle  with  the  rostral 
column  and  the  statue  sticking  out  like  an  ornamental 
axle. 

Daphne  compared  this  apartment-stack  with  the  big, 
rambling,  stair-infested  house  she  had  left.  She  gave  all 
the  advantage  to  the  apartment,  in  spite  of  the  lawn  and 
the  trees  and  the  spaciousness  of  the  Cleveland  home. 
She  preferred  the  concise  dwellings  of  New  York  and  the 
communal  playground  of  Central  Park.  Her  little  heart 
was  lyrical  with  satisfaction  in  the  knowledge  that  New 
York  was  to  be  her  home  hereafter. 

"From  now  on,"  she  said,  "I'm  a  Manhattanette." 

Aloft  in  this  eyrie  her  soul  seemed  to  lift  free  of  the 
cheap,  economical,  penny-paring  province  she  had  grown 
up  in.  She  was  swinging  now  in  the  very  belfry  of  human 
pride  and  freedom. 

She  was  grateful  beyond  words  to  the  young  man  who 
embraced  her  and  stared  over  her  shoulder — over  her 
left  shoulder — at  the  tiny  commerce  of  the  streets  and 
the  toy  park.  She  said  to  him: 

"Oh,  Clay,  this  is  heaven!  What  do  you  say  to  our 
having  an  apartment  just  like  this?  Let's!" 

She  felt  in  the  arm  about  her  a  sudden  slackening. 
The  chin  on  her  shoulder  seemed  to  weigh  heavier. 

49 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Er — it — it  would  be  nice,"  said  Clay. 

She  turned  out  of  his  embrace  and  looked  at  him. 

"What!  Don't  you  like  it?  Don't  you  think  it's 
simply  ideal?" 

"Yes,"  he  stammered.  "It's  a  very  high  ideal.  But 
I'm  only  real." 

She  wrinkled  her  brows  at  this  riddle. 

He  explained,  "Do  you  know  how  much  Bayard  pays 
for  these  seven  rooms  and  two  baths?" 

"No." 

"Well,  I've  been  looking  about  for  a  little  nest  for  us, 
and  I  priced  one  like  this.  They  charge  twenty-five  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year!" 

She  did  not  even  wince  at  the  exclamation-point.  She 
asked,  "How  much  is  that? — a  month,  I  mean."  She 
had  so  little  habit  of  computation  that  her  brain  flunked 
the  simplest  problems. 

He  was  quick  at  figures,  and  he  said,  "Two  hundred  and 
eight  dollars  and  thirty-three  and  one-third  cents." 

"Perhaps  they  would  throw  off  the  eight  dollars,"  she 
said. 

He  grunted. 

She  asked,  shyly,  "And  that's  more  than  we  can 
afford?"  She  had  no  idea  what  salaries  were  paid  to 
fairy  princes  in  this  city  of  fabulous  wealths.  She  had 
merely  a  glamorous  impression  that  her  lover  was  there 
to  get  her  what  she  wanted. 

"Well,  we  could  afford  it,  all  right,"  he  laughed,  meekly, 
"if  we  could  eat  the  view  and  wear  the  altitude.  But 
we've  never  talked  about  money,  honey,  have  we?  I 
suppose  we  ought  to.  I  don't  want  to  give  you  any  false 
impressions.  Shall  we  talk  about  it  now?" 

"No!  please!" 

Daphne  sat  suddenly.  She  felt  as  a  stranger  to  tall 
buildings  feels  when  an  express  elevator  starts  downward. 

She  had  rejoiced  to  think  that  she  was  escaping  from 
her  father's  nagging  dollarocracy  to  a  region  of  love  and 

50 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

light.  She  sorrowed  a  moment,  then  she  gazed  at  her 
lover  and  saw  how  anxious  he  was.  Her  love  came  back 
to  her.  The  express  elevator  was  shooting  upward  now. 

"What  does  it  matter  where  we  live,  so  long  as  we  have 
each  other?" 

"You're  a  little  saint,"  he  said  as  he  took  her  in  a  very 
secular  embrace. 

And  then  she  began  to  laugh. 

The  whimsy  struck  her  that  she  was  like  a  bird  gaining 
its  freedom  from  a  cage  only  to  find  itself  in  a  trap.  It 
was  a  good  joke  on  her.  She  enjoyed  the  jokes  fate 
played  on  her — sometimes — more  or  less. 

Clay  felt  the  jangle  in  her  laugh  and  he  insisted  on  ex- 
plaining with  some  swagger: 

"I'm  no  beggar,  you  know.  I'm  doing  mighty  well 
for  a  fellow  of  my  age,  and  my  future  is  as  bright  as  a  new 
pan.  But  I  thought  it  would  be  fine  if  we  could  get 
married  while  our  love  is  young  and  while  we  are  young, 
rather  than  wait  till  I  had  piled  up  a  big  future — especially 
as  I'd  surely  lose  you  if  I  didn't  grab  you  quick.  Do  you 
agree  with  me,  or — " 

"I  agree  with  you.  You're  absolutely  right,"  said 
Daphne,  with  the  positive  knowledge  that  only  youth  can 
rely  on. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  other  civilizations  than  ours  the  four  parents  of  a 
couple  are  expected  to  do  a  certain  amount  of  dicker- 
ing before  a  marriage.  In  ours  the  parents-in-law  are 
even  more  afraid  of  each  other  than  of  their  children. 
It  is  considered  highly  indelicate  to  talk  of  money  before 
the  wedding.  There  is  time  enough  to  talk  about  it 
afterward.  It  does  not  lack  discussion  then. 

When  Daphne  and  Clay  had  disposed  of  their  financial 
problem  by  the  ingenious  device  of  agreeing  to  ignore  it, 
romance  returned  to  her  shaken  perch.  Clay  invited 
Daphne  and  her  mother  to  lunch  "on"  him.  He  begged 
them  to  eat  early,  as  he  had  to  get  back  to  his  office. 

He  taxicabbed  them  down  to  the  Knickerbocker  and 
lunched  them  so  lavishly  that  Daphne  and  her  mother 
felt  thoroughly  reassured  as  to  his  means.  Then  he  left 
them  and  descended  to  the  subway.  They  sallied  forth 
to  comb  the  shops. 

This  was  to  be  merely  a  hasty  reconnaissance.  It  was 
dinner-time  before  they  had  finished  the  first  department 
store.  They  had  bought  nothing  except  half  a  dozen 
small  bundles,  but  they  went  back  to  their  lodging-place 
filled  with  duplex  awe  for  the  loveliness  of  the  wares  and 
the  ghastliness  of  the  prices. 

Clay  had  insisted  on  their  dining  and  theatring  with 
him.  They  ate  at  the  Astor  and  he  fed  them  handsomely 
again.  Mrs.  Kip  managed  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  bill 
for  the  meal.  It  made  her  heart  ache  till  she  noted  that 
Clay  gave  the  waiter  a  dollar  bill  for  the  tip,  without 
visible  excitement  on  either  side.  She  resolved  that 
Mr.  Wimburn  must  be  very  rich  or  very  rash. 

52 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Throughout  the  first  two  acts  of  the  comedy  at  the 
theater  she  was  wrestling  with  mental  arithmetic.  Her 
son-in-law  had  begun  the  day's  disbursements  by  tipping 
the  redcap  a  quarter.  He  paid  the  taxicab  man  a 
dollar  and  a  quarter.  He  gave  the  doorman  at  the 
apartment  a  quarter  for  bringing  the  things  to  the  elevator, 
and  the  elevator  man  a  quarter  for  setting  them  inside 
the  door  of  the  apartment.  That  made  something  like 
three  dollars.  The  taxi  to  the  lunch  was  another  dollar, 
and  so  far  as  she  could  spy  it  out  he  had  paid  six  dollars 
for  the  lunch  and  the  tip.  And  that  made  nine  or  ten 
dollars.  And  the  dinner  was  about  ten  more  and  the  cab 
to  the  theater  was  seventy-five  cents,  and  the  tickets  were 
six  dollars  at  least.  That  was  twenty-seven  dollars, 
probably,  and  the  taxi  home  was  yet  to  pay,  and  he  had 
spoken  something  about  having  supper  somewhere. 

Mrs.  Kip  was  arriving  toward  the  top  reach  of  her 
computative  abilities,  but  she  said  to  herself  that  this 
day's  amusements  had  "made  thirty  dollars  look  mighty 
sick." 

And  seven  times  thirty  was  two  hundred  and  some- 
thing. Two  hundred  dollars  in  a  week,  not  counting 
breakfast,  lodging,  laundry,  clothes,  sickness,  and  sundries ! 

After  such  a  day  of  outlay  Wesley  Kip  would  have 
been  prostrated.  The  dear  Wimburn  boy  must  be  pretty 
rich  to  be  so  gay  and  unconcerned. 

When  she  had  arrived  at  this  comfortable  conclusion 
the  play  was  too  far  gone  for  her  to  attempt  to  decipher 
the  plot  further  than  to  study  the  gowns  worn  by  the 
actresses.  She  slept  intermittently  during  the  last  act, 
and  declined  with  convincing  sincerity  Clay's  invitation 
to  a  bite  of  supper. 

She  would  save  him  three  dollars  on  the  day,  anyway. 

Next  morning  the  attack  on  the  shops  began  in  ear- 
nest. Clay  did  not  lunch  with  them,  and  so  Daphne 
and  her  mother  ate  in  the  restaurant  of  a  department 

53 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

store  and  paid  for  their  own  meal.  It  made  a  difference. 
Even  the  bargain  prices  for  food  totaled  up  unpleasantly, 
and  Mrs.  Kip  missed  Clay's  shining  presence. 

The  chaos  of  the  styles  was  so  complete  that  the  two 
women  decided  to  retire  and  study  out  their  campaign 
on  the  war  maps.  They  bought  a  number  of  fashion 
magazines,  Vogue,  Harper's  Bazar,  the  Ladies'  Home 
Journal,  and  others,  and  lugged  them  home. 

They  began  to  make  out  lists  and  tally  up  prices.  The 
afternoon  went  by,  and  they  had  accomplished  little 
except  an  itemized  despair. 

"It's  awful,  that's  what  it  is;  it's  simply  awful,"  Mrs. 
Kip  wailed.  "  It  costs  a  fortune  to  get  nothing  at  all." 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  home  and  be  an  old  maid,"  said  Daphne. 
"  Dad's  money  wouldn't  buy  me  enough  to  get  married  in 
Sandusky." 

But  when  Clay  arrived  to  take  them  out  to  dinner  he 
brought  romance  with  him.  He  had  had  a  good  day  at 
the  office.  There  had  been  a  flurry  of  hope  in  Wall  Street, 
and  everybody  said  that  the  business  world  had  reached 
the  rock  bottom  of  the  depression  at  last  and  started  up 
again. 

He  celebrated  the  new  era  with  a  twelve-dollar  dinner 
at  the  Plaza  and  another  theater,  and  after  that  he  made 
Mrs.  Kip  accompany  them  to  a  roof  garden,  where  Daphne 
and  he  danced  with  other  laity  in  the  intervals  between 
professional  dances  on  the  floor  and  vaudeville  turns  on 
the  stage. 

The  next  day  there  was  another  foray  on  the  shops 
and  the  dressmakers,  with  a  baffling  result.  Mrs.  Kip 
had  the  womanly  inspiration  to  find  some  cheap  dress- 
makers and  tailors  and  carry  to  them  what  notions  could 
be  stolen  from  the  big  people. 

This  required  another  series  of  wearisome  pilgrimages, 
first  to  the  most  ferociously  fashionable  shops,  where 
Mrs.  Kip  pretended  to  be  from  Pittsburg,  and  studied 
with  laborious  disdain  all  the  latest  extras  in  style. 

54 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Then  they  went  to  shoddier  dressmakers  and  described 
what  plagiarisms  they  wanted  committed.  But  even  the 
cheap  dressmaker  demanded  such  prices  that  Mrs.  Kip 
said: 

"Seems  like  everybody  in  New  York  wants  to  cut  your 
rings  off  your  fingers." 

The  list  of  necessaries  with  their  minimum  prices  began 
to  grow  so  long  and  ominous  that  they  decided  to  give 
up  keeping  a  list.  They  would  buy  what  just  had  to  be 
got,  as  cheaply  as  they  could,  and  if  they  overran  their 
appropriation  papa  would  simply  have  to  help  them  out. 
That  night,  when  Clay  asked  Daphne,  not  for  the  first 
time,  if  she  really  loved  him,  she  answered: 

"If  you  could  know  the  agony  I'm  going  through  trying 
to  get  ready  to  marry  you  you'd  never  doubt  my  love." 


CHAPTER  IX 

HPHE  daily  Marathon  against  time  and  money  began 
1  to  tell  on  Mrs.  Kip's  patience  and  her  strength. 
She  carried  weight  for  age,  and  she  was  under  the  dolorous 
necessity  of  realizing  that  all  these  beautiful  things  were 
out  of  her  hope  for  one  reason  or  another;  they  were  too 
young  or  too  costly  or  too  gaudy.  She  was  spending  her 
husband's  money  and  laying  up  quarrels  for  the  future 
in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  last  child  they  had  at  home.  She 
was  banishing  youth  from  her  house  and  paying  a  heavy 
ransom  too. 

But  Daphne  went  like  a  swallow.  It  hurt  her  only  for 
a  moment  to  find  the  price  of  something  too  high.  The 
fact  that  she  could  not  have  this  hat  or  that  suit  annoyed 
her  hardly  more  than  it  annoyed  her  on  the  day  when  she 
went  through  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  with  Clay,  to 
realize  that  she  could  not  buy  the  Paul  Dougherty  sea- 
scape or  order  Borglum's  bronze  "Mares  of  Diomedes," 
wrapped  up  and  sent  home. 

At  night  the  hot  bath  and  the  change  of  costume  were 
a  new  birth  to  her,  and  she  was  ready  for  any  divertise- 
ment  that  Clay  could  invent. 

Mrs.  Kip  went  with  them  less  and  less.  She  felt  no 
alarm  for  Daphne's  morals;  she  had  always  trusted  her 
child  and  never  found  a  reason  not  to.  Besides,  a  girl 
ought  to  be  safe  in  the  charge  of  her  future  husband,  if 
ever.  She  was  afraid  only  for  Daphne's  strength.  But 
when  she  mentioned  her  anxiety  for  that,  Daphne's 
laughter  was  answer  enough. 

If  Mrs.  Kip  had  any  fears  left  over  they  were  for  the 

56 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

endurance  of  Clay  Wimburn's  bank  account,  and  since 
he  showed  no  sign  of  retrenching,  she  dismissed  that 
fear.  She  made  no  effort  to  chaperon  the  pair  or,  finally, 
even  to  stay  awake  till  they  came  home. 

The  next  morning  she  would  waken  early  to  throw  out 
the  cigarette  stubs  Clay  had  squeezed  on  the  ash-trays 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  glance  at  a  theater  program  left 
on  the  table  or  a  wilted  bouquet.  She  would  gather  up 
the  jetsam  of  Daphne's  clothes  and  do  the  work  of  the 
housemaid  before  the  maid  got  around.  Then  she  would 
order  breakfast  up  and  go  in  to  waken  her  child  to  the 
day's  ordeal  of  fittings  and  purchasings. 

The  wedding  date  had  yet  to  be  fixed  and  the  invitations 
ordered,  with  their  royal  phraseology  in  the  latest  formula. 

They  placed  the  day  late  enough  for  Bayard  and  his 
wife  to  get  back  from  Europe.  Bayard  had  not  written, 
of  course,  since  his  marriage,  except  a  brief  note  from  the 
steamer  the  day  he  landed.  But  he  had  set  six  weeks 
as  the  limit  of  his  absence. 

Bayard  had  been  married  a  month  and  Daphne's  wed- 
ding-gown had  not  yet  been  decided  on.  Mrs.  Kip  was 
already  homesick  for  her  rocker  and  her  home  cooking. 
She  was  homesick  for  a  good  quarrel  with  her  husband. 

One  evening  Clay  announced  that  he  had  reserved  three 
seats  for  a  new  comedy  that  had  opened  with  success  a  few 
nights  before.  Mrs.  Kip  begged  to  be  excused  from 
going. 

Clay  urged  her  to  reconsider  her  refusal,  but  she  thought 
she  noted  a  kind  of  harrowed  anxiety.  His  cordiality 
reminded  her  of  her  own  manner  with  some  guest  who 
had  stayed  too  long.  He  seemed  relieved  by  her  final 
negative,  but  he  added: 

"Sure  you  won't  go?  You  ought  at  least  to  see  the 
star,  Sheila  Kemble.  Some  people  say  she  looks  a  little 
like  Daphne.  Of  course  she  doesn't;  she's  not  a  tenth 
as  beautiful  or  young  or  attractive,  but  there  is  a  kind  of  a 
resemblance.  And  they  say  she  gets  a  thousand  dollars 

57 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

a  week.  Daphne  could  give  her  cards  and  spades  and 
beat  her.  Sure  you  won't  go?" 

"I  wouldn't  put  my  poor  feet  into  those  tight  slippers 
to-night  to  see  Daphne  herself  play  Lady  Macbeth." 

So  Clay  and  Daphne  went  alone,  and  held  hands  through 
the  darker  scenes,  wept  charmingly  at  the  pathos  and 
laughed  hilariously  at  the  comedy,  to  the  great  comfort 
of  the  author  and  the  great  assistance  of  the  actors. 

Between  the  acts  they  strolled  out  on  the  walk.  It 
seemed  strangely  country-town  to  loiter  on  Broadway  in 
the  late  evening  bareheaded.  But  hot  weather  brings  its 
own  customs,  and  women  sauntered  back  and  forth  in 
village  fashion,  the  men  in  straw  hats  and  dinner  jackets, 
smoking  their  cigarettes  and  smacking  the  curb  with  their 
little  sticks.  Some  of  the  couples  even  visited  an  adjoining 
drug-store  with  an  ice-cream-soda  fountain.  But  Clay 
would  not  demean  his  guest  or  himself  with  such  plebeian 
cheer. 

After  the  last  act,  indeed,  he  proposed  Claremont  for 
supper.  Daphne  accepted  with  zest.  They  entered  an 
open  taxicab  and  scudded  up  the  long  bias  seam  of  Broad- 
way to  Seventy-second  Street  and  whisked  across  to 
Riverside  Drive  and  up  its  meandering  splendor. 

"This  is  too  beautiful  to  go  through  so  fast,"  Daphne 
cried.  "It's  wonderful.  Tell  him  to  go  slower.  We 
ought  to  walk." 

"It's  a  pretty  long  walk,"  Clay  laughed,  and  nearly 
added:  " It's  a  pretty  long  ride.  If  you  don't  believe  it, 
ask  the  taximeter." 

"I'd  rather  walk,"  Daphne  pleaded.  "There  are 
benches  to  rest  on  everywhere.  Promise  me  we  can  walk 
home.  It's  such  a  gorgeous  night." 

"You're  crazy,  darling,"  he  said.  "I've  got  to  get  to 
my  office  to-morrow,  and  you've  got  to  get  home  for 
breakfast." 

"All  right  for  you,"  she  pouted.  But  it  was  none  too 
serious  a  tragedy,  and  her  spirits  revived  when  the  taxicab 

58 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

turned  in  through  the  shrubs  about  the  old  inn  that  had 
once  been  the  home  of  Napoleon's  brother  and  had  heard 
the  laughter  of  Theodosia  Burr  and  of  Betty  Jumel  in 
their  primes. 

The  little  frame  building  nestled  in  the  moon-shadow 
of  the  austere  mausoleum  of  General  Grant,  and  its 
balconies  looked  out  upon  the  titanic  scimitar  of  the  Hud- 
son River  cleaving  the  Palisades. 

Daphne  did  not  like  the  table  the  head  waiter  led  them 
to.  It  missed  both  the  breeze  and  the  view. 

"Can't  we  sit  over  there?"  she  said. 

"I'll  see." 

The  head  waiter  came  reluctantly  to  his  beck.  When 
Clay  asked  for  the  table,  the  answer  was  curt : 

"Sorry,  sir;   it  is  reserved." 

Clay  felt  insulted.  He  whipped  out  his  pocket-book  and 
rebuked  the  tyrant  with  a  bill.  He  thought  it  was  a  one- 
dollar  bill,  but  he  saw  a  "V"  on  it  just  as  the  swift  and 
subtle  head  waiter  absorbed  it  without  seeming  to.  To 
ask  for  it  back  or  for  change  was  one  of  the  most  impos- 
sible things  in  the  world. 

Clay  made  it  as  easy  for  his  new  slave  as  he  could. 

"I  don't  think  you  understood  which  table  I  meant," 
he  said,  pointing  to  the  one  he  had  indicated  before. 
"That  one." 

"Oh,  that  one !' '  said  the  head  waiter.     ' ' Certainly,  sir. ' ' 

He  led  the  way,  beckoning  waiters  and  omnibuses  and 
snapping  his  fingers. 

Contemptible  as  the  emotion  is,  there  are  few  people 
superior  to  the  delight  of  being  escorted  to  a  special  place 
by  a  pompous  usher. 

Daphne  was  so  childishly  pleased  that  she  went  for- 
ward on  roller  skates  of* pride,  and  Clay  followed,  trying 
to  look  like  a  young  demon  of  the  Stock  Exchange.  He 
had  at  least  the  anxious  heart-flutterings  of  those  whose 
pride  is  built  on  unstable  coils  of  ticker-tape. 

It  did  his  heart  good  to  see  the  effort  Daphne  was 

59 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

making  to  keep  from  exposing  her  rapture  too  frankly. 
The  night  and  the  river  were  overwhelmingly  noble,  but 
the  true  appeal  was  in  the  people  and  the  luxury  and  the 
electric-lighted  world.  The  human  note  is  what  the 
human  heart  is  tuned  to,  and  the  love  of  soft  pelts  and 
tender  meats  and  of  ostentation  is  older  than  the  acquired 
taste  for  landscapes. 

Clay  responded  to  this  wide  vibration,  and  he  ordered 
a  supper  as  chastely  perfect  as  a  sonnet.  It  showed  that 
he  had  both  native  ability  and  education  in  the  art  of 
ordering  a  meal.  He  impressed  even  the  head  waiter,  and 
that  is  a  triumph.  That  was  Clay's  purpose.  His 
palate  and  Daphne's  would  have  been  content  with  a 
snack  at  a  lunch-wagon  or  the  cold  comfort  to  be  educed 
from  an  ice-box.  But  Clay  felt  that  he  had  to  dominate 
that  head  waiter.  Also  he  wanted  to  pay  his  exquisite 
guest  an  exquisite  compliment.  Also  he  wanted  to  pre- 
serve his  self-respect  and  the  waiter's  attention  in  the  face 
of  the  supper  that  was  being  ordered  at  the  next  table. 
That  was  well  ordered,  too,  but  it  was  not  a  sonnet: 
it  was  a  rhapsody.  It  was  ordered  by  a  man  whose 
guests  had  not  yet  arrived.  When  Clay  had  despatched 
his  waiter  he  whispered  to  Daphne: 

"See  that  fellow.  That's  Thomas  Varick  Duane,  one 
of  the  wellest-known  bachelors  in  New  York.  He  was 
crazy  about  Leila." 

"Not  Bayard's  Leila!" 

"  Yes.  That's  really  why  Bayard  got  married  so  quick. 
He  was  afraid  Tom  Duane  would  steal  her.  Nice  enough 
fellow,  but  too  much  money!" 

Daphne  looked  at  the  big  man,  and  caught  him  looking 
at  her  with  a  favorable  appraisal.  She  stared  him  down 
with  the  cold  self-possession  of  the  American  girl  who  will 
neither  flirt  nor  flinch.  Duane  yielded  and  turned  his 
eyes  to  Clay,  recognized  him,  and  nodded. 

"Hello,  Wimburn!     H'ah  ya?" 

"Feeling  fairly  snappy,"  said  Clay. 

60 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Duane  showed  a  willingness  to  come  over  and  be 
presented,  but  Clay  kept  him  off  with  a  look  like  a  pair  of 
pushing  hands. 

Still,  it  is  glorious  to  be  pleasantly  greeted  by  the  rich, 
or  to  be  with  people  who  are  thus  distinguished.  Daphne 
had  often  read  about  Mr.  Duane — not  among  the  leaders 
in  statecraft,  finance,  science,  art,  letters,  or  exploration, 
but  in  the  elevated  realm  of  expensive  amusements,  the 
elegances,  and  sports;  she  was  proud  to  be  in  the  same 
restaurant  with  him. 

Duane  loitered  about,  waiting  for  his  guests.  He 
looked  lonely.  Daphne  felt  a  mixture  of  charity  and 
snobbery  in  her  heart.  She  whispered  to  Clay: 

"Invite  the  poor  fellow  over  here  till  his  guests  come." 

Clay  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  dying  to  be  able  to  tell  the  people  at  home  that 
I  met  the  great  Duane." 

Again  Clay  shook  his  head. 

"And  that  you  introduced  him  to  me." 

Clay  nodded.  He  beckoned  Duane  over  with  hardly 
more  than  a  motion  of  the  eyebrows.  Duane  came  with  a 
flattering  eagerness.  He  put  his  hand  out  to  Clay;  and 
Clay,  rising,  made  the  presentation. 

"You're  not  related  to  Bayard  Kip,  I  hope,"  Duane 
said,  with  an  amiable  frown. 

" He's  my  brother.     Why?" 

"I  owe  him  a  big  grudge,"  said  Duane.  "He  stole  his 
wife  from  me,  just  as  I  was  falling  madly  in  love  with  her. 
Beautiful  girl,  your  new  sister." 

"I've  never  seen  her,"  said  Daphne. 

"Beautiful  girl!"  he  sighed.  "Much  too  good  for  your 
brother,  infinitely  beyond  me.  Why  don't  you  both 
move  over  to  my  table?  Miss  Kemble  is  to  be  there  with 
her  manager.  Mighty  clever  girl — Miss  Kemble.  Have 
you  seen  her  new  play?" 

"We  were  there  to-night,"  said  Daphne.  "She's 
glorious!" 

61 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Come  on  over  and  play  in  our  yard,  then.  She's 
terribly  respectable.  Big  handsome  brute  of  a  husband 
somewhere  making  money.  But  she  got  restless  in  the 
factory  town  and  struck  out  again  for  herself.  She's  as 
rich  as  Hetty  Green.  Her  manager,  Herman  Reben,  is 
coming  along." 

Daphne  had  never  met  a  famous  actress.  She  was  wild 
to  join  the  group  and  to  know  Tom  Duane  better.  But 
Clay  spoke  with  an  icy  finality. 

"  Thanks,  old  man.  We're  already  ordered."  He  still 
stood,  and  he  had  not  invited  Duane  to  sit  down. 

Tom  Duane  looked  at  Daphne  and  smiled  like  a  boy 
rebuked.  "All  right,  I'll  go  quietly.  I  know  when  I'm 
kicked  out.  But  next  time  I  won't  go  so  easily.  Good 
night." 

He  put  his  warm,  friendly  hand  out  again  to  Daphne 
and  to  Clay,  who  nodded  him  away  with  an  appalling 
informality,  considering  how  great  he  was. 

Daphne  was  uplifted  by  various  prides.  She  had  met 
the  famous  Tom  Duane;  she  had  seen  him  rebuffed  by 
her  husband-to-be;  she  had  seen  for  the  first  time  how 
instantly  jealous  her  lover  could  be  of  her,  how  rudely 
he  warded  off  another  gallant.  She  had  nearly  met  the 
national  favorite,  Sheila  Kemble,  who  came  in  now  with 
her  manager. 

Miss  Kemble  was  trying  to  carry  her  new  success  easily. 
She  showed  the  strain  of  the  long  rehearsals  that  had  pre- 
ceded her  triumph.  She  needed  either  sleep  or  the  first 
aid  of  the  limelight. 

"Do  I  really  look  like  her?"  Daphne  whispered. 

"As  much  as  a  diamond  looks  like  a  rhinestone,"  Clay 
answered,  with  complete  conviction. 

Other  people  came  in,  some  of  them  plainly  sightseers, 
some  of  them  personages  of  quality.  Everybody  seemed 
happy,  clandestine,  romantic.  There  was  here  something 
mysteriously  more  than  a  crowd  of  late  eaters  in  a  restau- 
rant, There  was  something  more  about  the  eating  than 

62 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  mere  eating.  There  was  a  distinct  absence  of  wine- 
guzzling  or  alcohilarity.  It  was  as  poetic  as  mastication 
can  be  in  a  crowd.  Outside  were  the  vastitude  of  the 
river  in  its  grand  canon,  the  massive  bulk  of  the  tomb  of 
the  eighteenth  President,  the  moon  and  her  army  of  stars. 
Within  were  the  tables,  the  murmuring  groups,  the  busi- 
ness of  being  happy. 

This  was  life  as  Daphne  wanted  to  live  it.  But  at 
length  she  yawned.  Her  little  hand  could  not  conceal  the 
contortion  of  her  features. 

"I'm  gloriously  tired,  honey,"  she  confessed,  with  a 
lovable  intimacy.  "It's  the  most  beautiful  supper  I  ever 
had,  but  I'm  sleepy." 

He  smiled  with  indulgent  tenderness  and  said  to  the 
waiter,  "Check!" 

Daphne  turned  her  eyes  away  decently  as  the  slip  of 
paper  on  a  plate  was  set  at  Clay's  elbow.  But  she  noted 
that  he  started  violently  as  he  turned  the  bill  over  and 
met  it  face  to  face.  He  studied  it  with  the  grim  heroism 
of  one  reading  a  death-warrant.  The  amount  staggered 
him.  He  turned  pale.  He  recovered  enough  to  say  to 
the  waiter,  "You've  given  me  the  wrong  check." 

The  waiter  shook  his  head.     "Oh,  nossair!" 

Clay  studied  it  again.  He  called  for  the  bill  of  fare, 
and  studied  that.  Daphne  felt  so  ashamed  that  she 
wanted  to  leap  into  the  river.  Abroad,  it  is  believed  that 
the  man  who  does  not  audit  his  restaurant  bill  is  either  an 
American  tourist  or  some  other  kind  of  fool.  But  in 
Daphne's  set  it  was  considered  the  act  of  a  miser.  Her 
father  was  always  complaining  of  overcharges.  He  was 
always  wrong,  but  the  protest  always  ruined  the  feast  for 
Daphne.  She  had  liked  Clay's  airy  way  of  tossing  a  large 
bill  on  the  plate.  But  now  he  had  the  skinflint's  glare. 
He  worked  over  his  check  as  if  it  were  a  trial  balance. 

"Ah,  I  thought  so,"  he  growled.  "The  bill  of  fare  says 
that  this  Montreal  melon  is  seventy-five  cents  a  portion: 
You've  charged  me  three  dollars  for  two  portions." 

63 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

A  look  of  pitying  contempt  twisted  the  waiter's  smile. 

' '  The  melon  you  ordered,  sair,  was  all  out.  I  served  you 
a  French  melon  instead." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"I  deed  not  theenk  it  mettered  to  the  gentlaman." 

Clay  sniffed.  He  was  not  to  be  quieted  by  such  a  sop. 
He  whipped  out  his  pocketbook  and  laid  down  every  bill 
in  it.  He  stretched  his  legs  and  ransacked  his  trousers 
pockets  and  dropped  on  the  plate  every  coin  he  had. 
He  withdrew  a  dime  and  waved  the  heap  at  the  waiter. 

It  was  evident,  from  the  way  the  waiter  snatched  the 
plate  from  the  table,  that  Clay  had  not  tipped  him.  In 
fact,  Clay  said,  "This  will  be  a  lesson  to  you." 

It  was  evidently  an  unappreciated  tuition,  for  the 
waiter  permitted  Daphne  to  put  her  own  scarf  about  her 
shoulders.  He  permitted  them  to  push  back  their  own 
chairs.  He  sneered  as  they  walked  away.  The  other 
waiters  grinned  and  exchanged  glances.  The  five  dollars' 
worth  of  head  waiter  kept  out  of  sight.  The  air  was 
galvanic  with  the  strain.  Daphne  thought  that  she 
would  drop  before  she  reached  the  exit.  The  hat-boy 
brought  Clay's  hat  and  stick,  and  Clay  gave  him  the 
dime.  His  "Thank  you,  sir"  was  like  a  drop  of  water 
in  a  desert. 

They  slumped  down  the  steps.  The  starter  said, 
"Cab,  sir?"  and  made  to  whistle  one  up. .  Clay  shook  his 
head  and  walked  on  toward  the  monument  of  Grant. 
Daphne  followed.  They  went  as  humbly  as  a  couple  of 
paupers  evicted  for  the  rent. 


CHAPTER  X 

DAPHNE  was  afraid  to  speak.  She  saw  that  Clay 
was  sick  with  wrath,  and  she  did  not  know  him  well 
enough  to  be  sure  how  he  would  take  her  interference  in 
his  thoughts.  She  trudged  along  in  utter  shame. 

The  worst  of  her  shame  was  that  she  was  so  ashamed 
of  it.  Why  should  she  care  whether  a  waiter  smiled  or 
frowned?  But  she  did  care,  infinitely. 

She  had  not  thought  that  the  spaces  around  Grant's 
Tomb  were  so  large  till  she  had  to  measure  them  in  this 
mood. 

When  they  were  crossing  the  Drive  to  the  foot-path 
along  the  parapet  she  had  to  snatch  Clay  back  from 
walking  into  a  touring-car  whizzing  along  with  midnight 
recklessness. 

The  Drive  was  almost  abandoned  now;  the  mighty 
wall  of  apartment-houses  was  almost  dark.  Save  for  a 
few  slumbering  vagrants  on  benches,  an  occasional  motor 
or  a  taxicab  on  the  roadway,  a  sleepy  boat  or  two  steam- 
ing up  the  river,  the  landscape  was  left  to  its  own 
devices. 

Daphne  could  not  pump  up  any  enthusiasm  for  the 
scenery.  Her  lover  took  no  advantage  of  the  serial  of 
arbors  and  the  embracing-bowers.  He  never  kissed  her, 
not  once. 

Daphne  ceased  to  be  sorry  for  Clay  and  felt  sorry  for 
her  neglected  self.  Then  she  grew  angry  at  herself. 
Then  at  him. 

At  length  she  said,  with  ominous  sweetness,  "Are  you 
going  to  walk  all  the  way,  dear?" 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"You  said  you  wanted  to,  didn't  you?"  he  mumbled, 
thickly. 

"That's  so." 

She  trudged  some  distance  farther — a  few  blocks  it  was ; 
it  seemed  miles.  Then  she  said,  "Are  you  mad  at  me 
about  something?" 

"No,  of  course  not;    it's  that  infernal  waiter." 

"I  wouldn't  let  a  waiter  spoil  my  whole  life  for  me, 
if  I  were  you." 

"His  insolence  drove  me  crazy." 

"Well,  let's  forget  about  him,  and  think  about  us  for  a 
while,  especially  me." 

He  turned  to  her  with  a  somber  tenderness  and  put  his 
arm  around  her.  That  shortened  the  next  reach  decid- 
edly, but  it  did  not  annihilate  space.  And  soon  she  was 
saying: 

"How  far  is  it  home — altogether?" 

"About  three  miles  and  a  half." 

"Is  that  all?  The  heroine  of  an  English  novel  I've 
been  reading  used  to  dash  off  five  or  six  miles  before 
breakfast." 

Patriotism  and  pride  helped  her  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
more.  Then  she  resigned: 

"I  guess  I'm  not  an  English  heroine.  I  don't  believe 
she  ever  really  did  it." 

Clay  grew  human  enough  to  say,  "A  man  I  know  said 
that  the  reason  the  English  take  those  long  walks  is  that 
their  homes  are  so  cold  they  have  to  go  outside  and  keep 
moving  or  freeze  to  death." 

She  laughed  encouragingly  and  snuggled  closer  under 
the  eaves  of  his  shoulder.  And  once  more  she  felt  that 
she  knew  him  well  enough  to  say:  "I'll  resign!  I'll  have 
to  ask  you  to  call  me  a  cab." 

"Pretty  hard  to  find  an  empty  one  along  here  at  this 
hour,"  he  said,  and  urged  her  on. 

"Let's  go  over  that  way  to  the  inhabited  part  of 
town,"  she  said,  "and  take  a  street-car  or  the  subway." 

66 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

And  then  he  stopped  and  said,  with  guilty  brusquerie, 
"Have  you  got  your  pocketbook  with  you?" 

"No,  I  left  it  at  home  to-night.     Why?" 

"Daphne,  I  haven't  got  a  cent!" 

"Why,  Clay!  you  poor  thing!" 

"That's  why  I  was  so  rough  with  the  waiter.  If  I'd 
had  the  money,  do  you  think  I'd  have  made  a  row  before 
you  about  a  few  little  dollars?  Never!  You  see,  I 
didn't  expect  to  go  out  to  Claremont  after  the  theater. 
The  taxi  cost  more  than  I  expected,  and  then  I  gave  the 
head  waiter  five  dollars  instead  of  one.  I  ordered  with 
care  so  that  it  would  come  out  right.  But  that  business 
about  the  melon  finished  me.  I  just  made  it.  I  never 
was  so  ashamed  in  my  life.  And  I  had  to  drag  you  into 
it,  and  now  I'm  murdering  your  poor  little  feet." 

His  voice  was  threatened  with  sobs,  and  she  dared 
not  comfort  him  with  the  pitying  sympathy  that  welled 
up  in  her  heart.  So  she  began  to  laugh  and  to  hurry  for- 
ward with  new  energy  like  a  tired  soldier  when  the  band 
strikes  up  a  Sousa  march.  She  was  saying : 

"That's  the  funniest  joke  I  ever  heard.  Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  before?" 

"I've  got  some  pride,"  he  grumbled. 

"Why,  what  is  there  to  be  ashamed  of?  The  richest 
people  find  themselves  without  cash  at  times.  I  read 
about  one  of  the  wealthiest  women  in  New  York  having 
to  borrow  twenty  dollars  from  a  taxi-driver  the  other 
day  because  she  left  her  purse  at  home.  Why  didn't  you 
ask  Mr.  Duane  or  somebody,  and  make  a  joke  of  it?" 

"It's  no  joke." 

"Why,  of  course  it  is!  You  have  only  to  go  to  your 
bank  to-morrow  and  draw  some  more." 

He  did  not  answer  this.  He  said  nothing  at  all.  She 
had  a  terrified  feeling  that  his  silence  was  full  of  meaning, 
that  his  bank  account  would  not  respond  to  his  call. 
She  could  not  ask  him  to  explain  the  situation,  She  was 
afraid  that  he  might, 

67 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  inarched  on  doggedly,  growing  more  and  more 
gloomy  and  decrepit.  Her  little  slippers  with  their  stilted 
heels  pinched  and  wavered,  and  every  step  was  a  pang. 

"Let's  go  over  there  and  get  on  a  street-car,  and  dare 
them  to  put  us  off,"  she  suggested. 

"It's  a  pay-as-you-enter  car,"  he  groaned. 

The  world  was  a  different  world  now.  The  Drive  that 
had  been  so  tremendously  lovely  as  she  sped  through  it  in 
a  taxicab  was  a  pathway  in  Mojave.  She  limped  through 
the  hideous,  hateful,  unpardonable  length,  and  felt  that 
it  was  a  symbol  of  the  life  ahead  of  her.  She  had  counted 
on  escaping  from  the  money  limits  of  her  home.  She  was 
merely  transferring  herself  from  one  jail  to  another. 

Her  young  lover  had  dazzled  her  with  his  heedless 
courtship,  flown  away  with  her  on  motor  wings,  dipping 
to  earth  now  and  then  to  sip  refreshments  at  a  high  cost, 
and  then  swooping  off  with  her  again. 

And  now  his  wings  had  broken;  his  gasoline  was  gone; 
his  motor  burnt  out ;  and  the  rest  of  the  journey  was  to  be 
the  same  old  trudge.  It  was  a  moonlit  trudge  through  a 
prolonged  garden,  but  the  moon  was  setting  and  the 
Drive  would  come  to  an  end  eventually  and  turn  her  out 
on  the  hard  streets. 

She  rebuked  herself  for  her  mercenary  thoughts  and 
for  the  selfishness  of  her  fears,  but  she  was  also  afraid  for 
the  poor  fellow-dupe  of  love.  She  had  spent  all  of  Clay's 
money  and  brought  him  to  shame  before  a  menial.  She 
had  spent  her  father's  money,  too;  and  for  what?  To 
dress  herself  up  for  a  parade  at  the  end  of  which  her  worn- 
out  father  would  shift  her  from  his  own  bent  shoulders, 
and  dump  her  on  the  neck  of  this  younger  man.  And 
then  she  and  Clay  would  grow  old  together,  he  working 
for  money  and  she  wrangling  it  out  of  him,  as  her  father 
and  mother  had  done,  and  their  fathers  and  mothers, 
and  grand-  and  great-grandparents. 

She  had  been  leaning  heavily  on  Clay's  arm.  Now  she 

68 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

put  it  away  from  her  in  a  mixture  of  pity  for  him  and 
of  self-reproof.     When  he  protested,  she  said: 

"I  think  I'll  walk  better  alone  for  a  while." 

So  she  hobbled  and  hobbled  by  herself,  he  pleading  to 
be  allowed  to  help  her.  But  she  kept  him  away. 

And  they  crept  on  a  little  farther,  loving  each  other 
piteously. 

The  blindfold  Cupid  who  had  flown  ahead  of  them, 
leading  them  with  fillets  of  silk,  was  now  hanging  back, 
like  the  miserable  brat  that  miserable  parents  yank  along 
by  the  arms  after  a  day  of  too  much  picnic. 

In  the  course  of  time  they  reached  the  Soldiers'  and  Sail- 
ors' Monument,  and  Daphne  sank  down  at  the  base  of  it. 

"I  can't  go  any  farther,"  she  said,  "not  if  I  die  of 
starvation."  He  sank  back  at  her  side.  There  was  an 
irony  about  their  plight  that  did  not  amuse  them.  The 
two  wayfarers  were  not  lost  in  a  wilderness,  but  clad  in 
evening  dress,  seated  on  a  work  of  art,  a  stone's-throw 
from  homes  of  the  utmost  comfort.  The  moon  peered 
at  them  between  the  columns  and  the  cello,  of  the  monu- 
ment, and  seemed  to  tilt  its  face  to  one  side  and  smile. 
A  motor-car  went  by  with  the  silence  of  a  loping  panther. 
Another  car  passing  it  threw  a  calcium  light  on  Tom 
Duane  and  his  guests  and  his  chauffeur.  How  gorgeously 
they  sped!  If  Daphne  had  had  a  bit  of  luck  she  would 
be  with  them,  soaring  on  the  pinions  of  money,  instead 
of  hobbling  on  without  it. 

Daphne  took  off  her  slippers  and  fondled  her  poor 
abused  feet  as  if  they  were  her  children.  But  when  she 
tried  to  thrust  them  back  into  her  slippers  for  a  final 
desperate  effort  she  almost  shrieked  with  the  hurt. 

"I'll  have  to  go  the  rest  of  the  way  in  my  stocking 
feet,"  she  moaned. 

"Not  if  I  have  to  carry  you,"  Clay  growled.  "No,  I'll 
go  and  break  into  that  house  and  telephone  for  a  limousine. 
I'll  hold  up  the  next  motor  that  goes  by  and  throttle  the 
chauffeur." 

69 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Before  he  had  a  chance  to  carry  out  his  resolutions  a 
taxicab  that  had  deposited  its  fares  at  an  apartment-house 
above  went  bowling  by  with  its  flag  up. 

Clay  ran  out  and  howled  at  it  till  it  stopped,  circled 
round,  and  drew  up  by  the  bridle-path.  Then  he  ran  to 
Daphne  and  bundled  her  into  it,  and  gave  her  address  to 
the  driver. 

"You're  a  genius,"  said  Daphne  as  she  sank  back  on  the 
cushions. 

"I'm  a  fool  not  to  have  thought  of  it  before,"  he 
said.  "  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  but  being  strapped." 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  pay  him?"  she  sighed,  bliss- 
fully, as  they  shot  along.  "Not  that  I  care  at  all." 

" I  haven't  figured  that  out,"  said  Clay.  "I'll  drop  you 
at  home  and  then  take  him  to  my  club  and  see  if  I  can't 
borrow  from  somebody  there.  If  I  can't,  I'll  give  him  my 
watch  or  the  fight  of  his  life." 

"That's  terrible!"  Daphne  sighed.  "To  think  how 
much  I  have  cost  you!" 

"Well,  I  wanted  to  give  you  a  good  time  on  your  little 
visit,"  said  Clay,  "and  it's  only  two  days  till  my  next 
salary  day." 

Her  heart  sank.  Her  guess  was  right.  His  bank  ac- 
count was  dry.  It  had  gurgled  out  in  amusing  her.  She 
felt  that  there  was  something  here  that  would  take  a 
bit  of  thinking  about — when  she  had  rested  enough  to 
think. 

The  taxicab  swung  into  Fifty-ninth  Street  and  drew  up 
to  the  curb.  Clay  helped  Daphne  out  and  said  to  the 
chauffeur,  "Wait!" 

He  said  it  with  just  the  tone  he  had  used  when  he  said 
to  the  waiter,  "Check!" 

He  was  plucky,  anyway,  thought  Daphne — as  graceful 
a  bluffer  as  ever  was. 

They  entered  the  elevator  in  good  form.  He  insisted 
on  leaving  her  at  her  door.  The  sleepy  elevator  boy,  who 
had  taken  them  up  often,  discreetly  descended  a  few 

70 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

floors  to  leave  them  an  opportunity  to  say  their  good 
nights  comfortably. 

When  Clay  had  kissed  her  his  seventeenth  farewell  and 
was  wondering  how  he  could  tear  himself  away  from  her 
without  bleeding  to  death,  Daphne  pressed  the  bell. 

Instead  of  her  drowsy  mother  opening  the  door  half 
an  inch  and  fleeing  in  her  curl-papers,  Bayard  himself  ap- 
peared in  his  bath-robe  and  pajamas. 

"Bayard!"  Daphne  gasped  as  she  sprang  for  him. 
"What  on  earth  brought  you  home  so  soon?" 

"Money  gave  out,"  he  laughed. 

"Hello,  Clay,"  he  said  as  he  put  forth  his  hand. 
"Mother  tells  me  you've  been  secretly  engaged  to  my 
sister  all  this  time,  you  old  scoundrel!  How  are  you? 
What's  the  good  word?" 

"Lend  me  five  dollars,"  said  Clay. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WOMEN  hate  one  another  when  they  are  tired  or 
disheveled.  They  loathe  to  be  introduced  when 
they  are  not  at  their  best,  when  they  are  caught  out 
in  a  second-rate  costume,  or  caught  in  in  a  genuine 
negligee. 

The  meeting  of  Daphne  and  her  new  sister-in-law  was 
not  what  either  would  have  expected  or  selected.  Daphne 
was  tired  in  body  and  soul,  discouraged,  footsore,  and 
dismayed  about  her  love  and  her  lover.  She  had  reached 
the  door  of  the  apartment  in  the  mood  of  a  wave-buffeted, 
outswum  castaway,  eager  for  nothing  but  to  lie  down  on 
the  sand  and  sleep. 

When  her  brother  opened  the  door  there  was  a  flare 
of  love  and  delight  in  her  greeting,  and  she  threatened 
to  hug  his  head  off.  But  in  a  moment  she  realized  that  the 
apartment  was  no  longer  hers.  The  rightful  owners,  the 
bride  and  groom,  had  come  back.  Their  claim  to  solitude 
had  some  time  to  run,  their  honeymoon  being  still  in  the 
first  quarter. 

Daphne  could  imagine  the  feelings  of  her  brother's 
wife  when  she  reached  her  home  after  a  long  ocean  voyage, 
a  night  landing,  the  custom-house  ordeal,  and  the  cab- 
ride  among  the  luggage,  and  found  a  mother-in-law  asleep 
in  her  bed  and  a  sister-in-law  yet  to  arrive! 

Poor  mother  Kip,  worn  out  with  shopping,  and  serene 
in  the  belief  that  Bayard  and  Leila  were  across  the  ocean, 
had  gone  to  bed  early.  She  was  very  much  at  home. 
She  had  been  a  trifle  infected  with  the  New  York  mania 
for  beauty  and  had  determined  to  take  back  to  Cleveland 
a  diminished  array  of  wrinkles  and  one  less  chin.  She 

72 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

had  therefore  harnessed  herself  for  slumber  in  a  face- 
mask,  a  chin-reducing  strap,  and  rubber  gloves. 

Bayard  and  Leila,  serene  in  the  belief  that  Daphne  and 
her  mother  had  gone  back  to  Cleveland,  entered  the 
apartment  without  formality  and  went  about  switching  on 
lights,  recovering  their  little  home  from  the  night  with 
magic  instantaneity. 

Mother  Kip's  awakening  came  from  the  light  that 
Bayard  flashed  in  his  bedroom.  She  did  not  recognize 
him  at  first  and  would  have  begun  to  shriek  for  the  police 
if  she  had  been  a  little  less  scared  and  her  chin-strap  a 
little  more  loose. 

When  Bayard  caught  sight  of  her  with  her  rubber  gloves 
clasped  beneath  her  mask  he  thought  at  first  that  a  sub- 
marine diver  had  wandered  in  and  fallen  asleep.  He  did 
not  recognize  his  mother  till  she  spoke  in  a  strangled  tone, 
sat  up,  and  began  to  peel  off  her  extra  face. 

Leila  had  a  lovable  disposition,  but  she  was  tired,  and 
all  the  way  up  in  the  overloaded  cab  she  had  thought 
longingly  of  the  beautiful  bed  in  her  own  new  home,  and 
had  promised  herself  a  quick  plunge  into  it  for  a  long  stay. 
How  could  she  rejoice  to  find  a  strange  woman  there — 
even  though  she  bore  the  sacred  name  of  mother-in-law  ? 

Mother  Kip  was  horribly  ashamed  of  being  found  with 
so  much  on.  She  ordered  Bayard  and  Leila  out  of  their 
own  room  till  she  could  escape  from  her  mask  and  into 
her  wrapper. 

When  she  was  ready  to  be  seen  she  had  so  many  apolo- 
gies to  make  and  accept  that  the  meeting  entirely  lacked 
the  rapture  it  should  have  expressed.  Even  a  mother 
could  hardly  be  glad  to  see  her  son  in  such  discouraging 
circumstances.  All  three  exchanged  questions  more  and 
more  perfunctorily,  and  kept  repeating  themselves.  The 
most  popular  question  was,  "  I  wonder  where  Daphne  is?" 

They  could  not  know  that  she  was  hobbling  down  the 
wilderness  of  Riverside  Drive.  She,  too,  was  thinking 
longingly  of  her  bed.  But  long  before  she  reached  it  her 

73 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

mother  had  moved  in  and  established  herself  across  a 
good  deal  more  than  half  of  it.  It  was  a  smallish  bed  in  a 
smallish  bedroom.  This  had  been  one  of  the  attractive 
features  of  the  apartment  to  Bayard  and  Leila  when  they 
chose  it,  for  Leila  had  said,  cannily,  "One  of  the  safest 
things  about  a  home  is  a  guest-discouraging  chamber." 

They  had  not  expected  poor  mother  Kip  and  poor  sister 
Daphne  to  be  the  first  victims. 

But  Leila  was  too  weary  to  care  much.  She  was  wearier 
still  before  she  had  remade  her  desecrated  bed  and  un- 
packed a  few  things.  She  fell  asleep  in  her  tub  and  might 
have  drowned  without  noticing  the  difference  if  her  yawn- 
ing husband  had  not  saved  her  life — and  very  cleverly: 
he  was  too  tired  to  lift  her  from  the  water,  so  he  lifted  the 
stopper  and  let  the  water  escape  from  her.  She  almost 
resented  the  rescue,  but  eventually  got  herself  to  bed  in 
a  prettily  sullen  stupor. 

From  some  infinite  depth  of  peace  she  was  dragged  up 
protesting.  Bayard  was  telling  her  of  Daphne's  arrival. 
Doggedly  she  began  to  prepare  an  elaborate  toilet,  but 
Bayard  haled  her  out  before  she  was  ready.  This  was  the 
final  test  of  Leila's  patience  and  of  Daphne's. 

It  was  a  tribute  to  both  that  they  hated  the  collision 
more  than  each  other.  Their  greetings  were  appropri- 
ately emotional  and  noisy,  and  they  both  talked  at  once 
in  a  manner  that  showed  a  certain  congeniality. 

When  at  length  Daphne  went  to  her  room  she  observed 
her  mother's  extra-territorial  holdings.  She  stretched 
herself  along  the  narrow  coast-line  in  despair  of  rest. 
But  she  was  too  tired  to  worry  or  lie  awake  and  she 
slept  thoroughly. 

The  next  morning  the  three  women,  about  to  meet  one 
another  by  daylight,  made  their  preparations  with  the 
scrupulous  anxiety  of  candidates  for  presentation  at 
court.  Leila  had  not  recaptured  the  maid  she  left  at  her 
father's  home,  and  she  was  dressing  from  her  trunks. 

74 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  and  her  mother  maided  each  other  in  the  little 
guest-room  where  there  was  everything  but  room. 

In  consequence,  breakfast  was  late  and  the  only  man 
there,  except  the  evanescent  waiter  from  the  restaurant 
below,  was  Bayard. 

A  troop  of  business  worries  like  a  swarm  of  gnats  had 
wakened  him  early.  He  had  escaped  some  of  them  in 
Europe,  for  the  honeymoon  had  been  a  prolonged  and 
beatific  interlude  in  his  office  hours;  but  marriage  was 
not  his  career.  His  career  was  his  work,  and  that  was 
recalling  him,  rebuking  him,  as  with  far-off  bugle 
alarms. 

He  was  so  restless  that  he  merely  glanced  at  the  head- 
lines of  the  paper.  He  was  preoccupied  when  he  kissed 
his  mother  and  Daphne  good  morning,  and  he  paced  up 
and  down  the  dining-room  like  a  caged  leopard  till  Leila 
arrived. 

Her  trousseau  had  included  boudoir  gowns  of  the  most 
ravishing  description  and  she  wore  her  best  one  to  break- 
fast. Daphne  and  Mrs.  Kip  made  all  the  desirable  ex- 
clamations at  the  cost  and  the  cut  of  it.  Even  Bayard 
paid  her  a  tribute. 

"  Isn't  she  a  dream,  mother?  Aren't  you  proud  of  her, 
Daph?" 

They  agreed  that  she  was  and  they  were,  and  Bayard 
drew  his  chair  up  to  the  table  with  pride,  chuckling: 

"I  tell  you,  this  being  a  man  of  family  is  the  only  life. 
I'm  sorry  for  those  poor  bachelors  at  the  club." 

He  rhapsodized  politely  for  a  time,  and  then  his  eye 
began  to  dwell  more  and  more  on  the  newspapers,  which 
he  had  left  near  his  plate  with  a  show  of  carelessness. 
Soon  his  rhapsody  was: 

"I  tell  you  it's  good  to  be  back  here  and  get  this  morn- 
ing's newspapers  this  morning.  The  last  New  York  news- 
paper I  saw  was  seven  days  ago  and  it  was  eight  days  old 
then.  I  feel  like  Rip  van  Winkle.  I  see  by  this  morning's 
Times  that—" 

75 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Can't  the  papers  wait?"  said  Leila,  who  did  not  care 
what  he  saw  by  the  Times. 

"Certainly,  my  love,  of  course,"  he  laughed,  and  he 
threw  the  paper  across  the  room,  and,  making  a  pistol 
of  his  left  hand,  loaded  it  with  a  kiss  and  fired  it  point- 
blank  at  her  head.  She  shot  him  another.  Everybody 
laughed  warmly,  and  Bayard  once  more  remarked  that  this 
was  the  life. 

But  his  treacherous  eyes  kept  sneaking  over  to  the 
newspapers  where  they  lay  with  their  head-lines  tantaliz- 
ingly  revealed  in  part.  He  was  like  a  boy  whose  new  toys 
have  been  taken  from  him. 

The  young  bride's  eyes  were  fastened  on  her  husband. 
He  was  her  new  toy,  and  he  was  about  to  be  taken  away 
from  her  for  the  whole  day.  She  bore  up  bravely  through 
the  fruit  and  the  cereal  and  well  into  the  eggs  before  she 
broke  out: 

"  Do  you  realize,  Bayard,  that  you  are  going  to  be  gone 
all  this  whole  livelong  day  at  your  hateful  office?" 

"I'm  afraid  so,  my  darling,"  he  moaned,  in  excellent 
spirits. 

"But  what's  to  become  of  me  all  morning?" 

Leila  wailed  the  question  as  tragically  as  if  it  concerned 
her  lifelong  fate.  She  wailed  it  no  less  tragically  for  the 
fact  that  she  was  adding  the  words  "all  morning"  to  the 
question.  She  wanted  to  know  what  was  to  become  of  her 
all  morning! 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  was  the  bride's  last  breakfast  and  the  housewife's 
first.  That  is,  Leila  was  not  really  a  housewife ;  only 
an  apartment-wife,  with  nearly  everything  done  for  her 
except  the  spending  of  her  time.  She  had  to  spend  her 
own  time. 

She  had  been  spending  her  brand-new  husband's  time 
for  several  weeks,  but  now  he  was  going  to  desert  her, 
abandon  her  on  a  desert  island  of  leisure  and  have  a  good 
time  at  his  office  all  by  himself. 

This  breakfast  was  the  funeral  of  the  honeymoon,  and 
Leila  hung  with  graceful  dejection  over  the  coffee-cup. 
It  might  have  been  a  cup  of  hemlock,  judging  from  the 
posture  of  her  woe.  But  the  he-brute,  attracted  by  a 
portion  of  a  head-line,  had  regained  his  newspaper  and 
was  gulping  it  down  with  his  coffee. 

He  was  so  absorbed  in  the  mere  clash  of  two  Mexican 
generals  and  the  danger  of  American  intervention  that  he 
forgot  the  all-important  demands  of  love,  and  ignored  the 
appalling  fact  that  he  had  only  a  few  minutes  left  before 
he  must  take  his  departure. 

His  egg-spoon  hung  with  its  freight  of  ivory  and  gold, 
and  chilled  in  front  of  his  lips,  while  he  exclaimed  upon 
President  Huerta's  failure  to  salute  the  United  States 
flag. 

What  was  Huerta  to  him  or  he  to  Huerta  that  he  should 
be  so  far  absorbed  as  to  compel  his  wife  to  ask  him  twice 
if  he  wanted  more  coffee! 

It  was  a  pitiful  awakening  to  the  new  Mrs.  Kip.  She 
was  being  taught  that  she  was  not  important  enough  to 

77 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

keep  her  husband's  mind  or  his  body  close  at  home.  He 
had  said  that  she  was  all  the  world  to  him,  and,  behold! 
she  was  only  a  part  of  it.  He  had  said  that  he  could 
think  of  nothing  else  and  desired  nothing  else  but  her. 
Now  he  had  her  and  he  was  thinking  of  everything  else. 
He  had  to  have  a  newspaper  to  tell  him  all  about  every- 
thing in  the  world. 

The  humiliation  and  the  cruelty  were  bitter.  Only  the 
fact  that  she  was  well  bred  and  patient  prevented  Leila 
from  tearing  down  the  newspaper  barrier  newly  risen, 
between  her  and  her  man.  Her  well-breeding  was  bol- 
stered by  the  fact  that  there  was  a  third  person  present — 
two  third  persons,  not  counting  the  waiter.  And  they 
were  relations-in-law,  of  all  the  persons  on  earth  that 
should  never  have  been  allowed  to  witness  such  a  rite. 

Daphne  felt  as  uncomfortable  and  untimely  as  even 
a  sister-in-law  could  have  wished.  Daphne  had  a  romance 
of  her  own  toward,  yet  she  was  being  compelled  to  take 
a  glimpse  at  married  life  as  it  hatefully  modulates  out  of 
bridal  bliss. 

She  was  like  one  of  those  mysterious  people  who  existed 
outside  paradise — the  citizens  of  Nod,  from  whom  Cain 
and  the  other  young  Adamses  took  their  wives.  How 
they  must  have  wondered  what  was  going  on  inside  that 
walled  Garden!  How  enviously  they  must  have  peeked 
through  the  gates!  How  they  must  have  stared  when 
Adam  and  Eve  were  thrust  out,  bringing  with  them  noth- 
ing but  their  fur  coats,  a  new  sense  of  modesty,  and  some 
new  facts  about  apples. 

Some  of  the  Noddites  doubtless  jeered  and  some  were 
sympathetic,  but  all  must  have  been  profoundly  shocked 
to  find  that  misery  and  disaster  had  stolen  even  into  Eden. 

It  was  Daphne's  fortune  or  misfortune  to  see  a  bridal 
couple  just  issuing  from  the  eastern  gate  of  paradise  to 
take  up  their  life  among  thorns  and  thistles  and  eat 
bread  in  the  sweat  of  the  face. 

Such  scenes  are  not  supposed  to  be  witnessed  by  those 

78 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

who  have  not  been  initiated  into  wedlock.  They  are 
kept  secret — to  encourage  the  others — for  whose  sake 
divorce  proceedings  ought  not  to  be  exposed,  since,  like 
all  other  casualty  lists,  they  tend  to  discourage  recruiting. 
Or  do  they? 

This  morning's  vision  set  Daphne's  heart  on  a  new 
inquiry  that  brought  her  pretty  little  head  whacking 
into  many  of  the  beams  that  uphold  society  as  it  is.  It 
led  her  small  feet  in  their  still  smaller  shoes  into  many 
stumbling-blocks.  Her  adventures  with  life  constituted 
what  might  be  called  a  Pilgrimette's  Progress,  through  the 
busy  years  of  1914  and  1915. 

And  perhaps  the  course  of  civilization  on  this  globe 
was  more  influenced  by  the  behavior  of  herself  and 
numberless  other  young  marriageable  women  in  the  same 
dilemma  than  by  all  the  bloody  blundering  in  the  slaugh- 
ter-house of  the  European  wars  that  resounded  through 
the  same  two  years. 

Daphne  and  her  American  lovers  were  like  children 
lingering  at  their  play  in  a  garden  while  a  cyclone  rages 
just  over  the  hill.  But  the  cyclone  was  merely  cataclysm 
and  destruction,  while  Daphne  and  her  lovers  were 
solemnly  playing  with  the  destinies  of  unborn  children, 
the  family  of  to-morrow,  the  home  of  the  future,  the 
very  principles  of  human  love. 

This  breakfast-table  was  the  beginning  of  an  epoch 
for  Daphne.  She  sat  with  her  eyes  tactfully  absorbed  in 
nothing  deeper  than  her  egg-cup,  but  her  whole  soul  was 
astare  at  what  it  was  learning  about  life. 

The  sight  of  Leila's  anguish  over  the  breakfast  obsequies 
of  the  honeymoon  chilled  Daphne's  hope  of  marriage  bliss 
like  a  frost  ravening  among  peach  blossoms. 

Her  sympathies  would  ordinarily  have  been  with  her 
brother  in  any  dispute  between  him  and  his  wife.  But 
this  was  a  dispute  between  Bayard  and  love.  It  was 
sacrilegious  for  him  to  go  on  reading  the  Times  when  his 

79 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

bride  had  so  much  more  important  things  to  discuss.  He 
heard  her  discuss  them  as  through  a  morning  paper  darkly, 
and  he  made  the  wrong  answers,  and  finally  he  snatched 
out  his  watch,  glared  it  in  the  face,  gasped,  and  attacked 
the  last  of  his  breakfast  like  a  train-catcher  at  a  lunch- 
counter. 

It  was  thus  that  he  heard  Leila  wail,  "What's  to  become 
of  me  all  morning?" 

Bayard  stared  at  her  sharply,  but  spoke  softly  enough: 
"Why,  I  don't  know,  honey.  There  ought  to  be  plenty 
for  you  to  do.  The  Lord  knows  there's  enough  for  me  at 
the  office." 

"All  right,"  sighed  Leila.  "I'll  be  brave  and  worry 
through  somehow,  till  noon,  with  my  sweet  new  sister's 
help.  But  we'll  come  down  and  lunch  with  you.  It  will 
be  great  fun  lunching  'way  down-town.  Were  you  ever 
'way  down-town,  Daphne  dear?" 

"No,  I  never  was,  Leila  darling." 

"Well,  let's  just  toddle  down  to  By's  office  and  tear 
him  from  his  faithful  stenographers."  She  said  this 
jokingly — then.  "About  what  time  do  you  go  out  to 
luncheon,  By?" 

Bayard's  answer  was  discouraging:  "Sometimes  at 
three  o'clock,  sometimes  at  noon,  sometimes  not  at  all. 
This  is  one  of  the  three  days  a  week  when  the  heads  of 
the  firm  always  lunch  at  Delmonico's  in  a  private  room." 

"A  private  room!  Good  Heavens!  Do  people  do  that 
sort  of  thing  in  this  country,  too?"  said  Leila,  who  had 
been  abroad. 

Bayard  answered,  sternly:  "It's  a  strictly  business  con- 
versation— purely  stag.  I've  got  to  be  there.  I'm 
afraid  I  can't  lunch  with  you  to-day." 

The  Ancient  Mariner  becalmed  on  the  charnel  ship  with 
the  slain  albatross  could  hardly  have  put  more  despair 
in  his  tone  than  Leila  heaped  on  hers: 

"And  you'll  leave  me  this  whole  terrible  day?  I  cap 
never  exist  so  long  without  you." 

8Q 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

It  was  idiocy  to  an  outside  ear,  but  bald  statement 
of  fact  in  the  world  of  love.  It  was  precious,  too,  to  one- 
half  of  Bayard's  soul.  But  he  was  already  half  remerged 
from  the  world  of  love  to  the  world  of  life.  He  was 
like  a  man  just  issuing  from  a  telephone-booth  and  still 
clinging  to  the  receiver  for  a  last  word.  He  called  back 
in  answer  to  the  hail  from  the  distance : 

"I'm  mighty  sorry,  honey.  But  men  must  work,  and- 
so-forth." 

Leila  detained  him  for  a  further  distress:  "You'll 
leave  me  a  whole  day  without  any  amusement.  It  isn't 
even  a  matinee  day,  except  at  the  music-halls  and  the 
movies.  What  can  I  do  all  day  to  kill  time?" 

Bayard  stared.  His  days  were  too  few  and  too  short 
for  the  work  he  had  before  him.  He  saw  everywhere  work 
to  be  done,  mountains  to  be  leveled,  canals  to  be  dug, 
stars  to  pluck,  inventions  to  invent,  freight  to  haul, 
demands  to  supply.  The  world  was  to  him  a  chaos  of 
fascinating,  compelling  tasks.  His  dread  of  sickness  and 
of  death  was  chiefly  because  of  the  loafing  that  they 
implied. 

It  dazed  him  to  encounter  a  soul  affrighted  at  finding 
itself  in  the  presence  of  a  wealth  of  time.  He  could  never 
get  enough  of  it. 

Also,  he  felt  a  shock  at  Leila's  hint  that  he  was  expected 
to  provide  her  with  amusement.  He  wanted  to  say, 
"Really,  my  love,  when  I  married  you  I  didn't  know  I  was 
booking  myself  for  continuous  vaudeville."  But  one  does 
not  say  such  things  to  wives  at  first.  So  he  said:  "I'm 
mighty  sorry,  honey,  but  I'm  helpless.  I've  been  away 
too  long.  The  office  needs  me.  And  I've  spent  a  lot  of 
money,  and  I've  got  to  go  down  and  earn  some  more  to 
buy  pretty  things  for  my  beauty." 

This  brightened  her  in  a  way  he  had  not  expected,  and 
a  little  too  far  beyond  his  hopes.  Gloom  left  her  face 
like  a  cloud  whipped  from  before  the  sun,  She  dazzled 
him  with  her  smile. 

81 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  to  do !  Daphne  and  your  mother  and 
I  can  go  shopping." 

Bayard's  heart  flopped.  He  wondered  what  on  earth 
more  there  was  in  the  shops  that  she  could  want  to  buy. 
She  had  come  to  the  marriage  with  her  trousseau  only 
partly  completed,  on  account  of  the  haste  of  the  wedding. 
But  she  had  bought  and  bought  in  Europe.  She  had 
made  his  honeymoon  anxious  by  her  rapacity  for  beautiful 
things  to  wear.  The  art-galleries  and  outdoor  splendors 
had  won  her  tamest  adjectives  of  praise  or  her  complete 
neglect.  The  shops  were  her  art-galleries  and  she  thridded 
them  with  a  collector's  mania.  The  difference  between 
the  Louvre  and  the  Magasin  du  Louvre  for  her  was  the 
difference  to  Bayard  between  the  book  reviews  and  the 
market  reports  in  the  newspapers. 

He  had  not  told  Leila  that  she  was  partly  to  blame  for 
the  abbreviation  of  the  honeymoon.  She  had  made  very 
deep  inroads  on  his  funds  by  her  demands,  and  still  deeper 
inroads  by  her  silent  appeal  to  his  passion  for  buying 
things  to  please  her. 

And  now  that  they  had  come  back  to  New  York  with 
their  old  trunks  bulging  and  new  trunks  bought  abroad 
bulging,  and  had  paid  a  thumping  sum  at  the  custom- 
house, now  she  was  still  eager  to  go  shopping! 

What  he  wanted  to  do  was  to  quit  buying  for  a  while 
and  sell  something. 

He  did  not  say  this.  Love  was  slipping  the  bandage 
off  one  eye;  but  it  had  not  yet  removed  the  sugar  stick 
that  stops  the  tongue  from  criticism. 

Leila  grew  more  cheerful  at  a  terrifying  rate:  "Go  on 
to  your  old  luncheon,  you  dear  child,  and  Daphne  and 
your  mother  and  I  will  go  on  a  spree  in  the  shops.  Then 
we'll  all  have  a  banquet  to-night  and  a  theater,  and,  if 
we're  not  too  tired,  a  supper;  and  if  you're  very  good 
I'll  take  you  to  one  of  those  dancing-places  afterward. 
I'll  buy  the  theater  tickets  myself.  I'll  get  good  ones. 
I  want  to  save  you  as  much  trouble  as  I  can,  honey.  So 

82 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

run  along  to  your  office  and  don't  worry  about  us.  But 
you  must  miss  me — frightfully!  Will  you?" 

He  vowed  that  he  would,  and  he  meant  it.  She  was  a 
most  missable  creature. 

He  rose  to  leave,  but  she  stopped  him  to  say,  "What 
play  shall  we  see?" 

"Oh,  anything.     What's  in  town?" 

She  ran  to  seize  a  newspaper  and  skimmed  the  theatrical 
announcements:  '"Kitty  Mackay' — awfully  sweet — we 
saw  it  together — remember?  We  spooned  in  Scotch  for  a 
week  after.  '  Potash  &  Perlmutter ' — they  say  it's  awfully 
funny.  What  about  that  ? ' ' 

"I  saw  it,"  said  Bayard,  "twice." 

Leila  turned  pale.  "Not  with  me!"  she  gasped.  "I 
never  saw  it." 

"No,  it  was  before  we  were  engaged." 

Leila  turned  red.  A  whirl  of  thoughts  was  almost 
visibly  spinning  through  her  brain.  It  was  not  very  nice 
of  Bayard  to  refer  to  things  that  had  happened  before 
they  were  engaged.  It  was  not  very  nice  that  he  should 
have  lived  at  all  before  they  were  engaged,  though,  of 
course,  he  had  to  have  lived  or  they  couldn't  have 
become  engaged.  But  at  least  he  should  not  have  gone 
to  theaters  with  other  people. 

To  most  wives  the  period  before  their  husbands  came 
under  their  control  is  always  a  dreadful  epoch  of  crime. 
Men  of  consideration  for  their  wives  (and  themselves) 
do  not  allude  to  that  cycle  at  all.  If  they  are  asked  about 
it  they  must  adopt  Mark  Twain's  saying  for  a  motto, 
"If  I  can't  explain  it,  I'll  deny  it." 

Bayard  was  too  new  to  husbandship  to  know  this. 
Indeed,  he  failed  to  heed  Leila's  torment  at  all  for  a 
lengthy  moment.  Then  he  said,  hastily,  with  a  laugh: 

"I  went  with  men  both  times,  honey — business  men 
from  the  West." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  Leila  cried  and  flung  her  arms  about 
him  and  reclaimed  him  to  her  bosom  as  if  he  had  just 

83 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

been  pardoned  from  the  penitentiary  after  a  ten  years' 
sentence. 

Bayard  smiled  across  her  shoulder  at  his  mother  and 
Daphne.  Neither  answered  him  with  a  smile.  Mrs.  Kip 
was  indignant  at  all  this  nonsense  of  Leila's.  She  had 
forgotten  her  own  romance  so  completely  that  she  believed 
she  had  never  been  nonsensical.  She  would  have  said  that 
in  her  day  young  wives  were  never  nonsensical.  That  is 
one  of  the  favorite  old  wives'  tales. 

Daphne  did  not  smile,  either,  but  for  quite  the  opposite 
reason.  She  was  understanding  Leila  and  the  ever-recur- 
rent type  she  was.  Daphne  was  imagining  herself  in 
Leila's  slippers  on  the  morning  after  her  own  honeymoon. 
It  is  a  crucial  morning  to  a  woman,  as  epochal  as  a  boy's 
first  smoke,  a  young  man's  first  vote.  Daphne  wondered 
if  Clay  Wimburn  would  be  as  impatient  as  Bayard  plainly 
was,  to  get  to  his  work. 

The  question  of  theater  tickets  came  up  again  and 
Bayard  teetered  from  one  foot  to  the  other  like  a  chained 
elephant  while  Leila  discussed  the  various  plays  and 
people.  At  length  she  noted  that  Sheila  Kemble  was 
playing  a  new  piece.  It'  was  such  a  success  that  it  was 
advertised  without  display.  Daphne  explained  that  she 
had  seen  it  the  night  before,  but  would  go  again  if  they 
wished.  Or  she  and  Clay  could  go  to  another  theater. 
This  was  the  occasion  for  elaborate  debate  till  Bayard 
gave  signs  of  trumpeting  his  wrath  and  bolting. 

Leila  graciously  released  him  only  to  call  him  back 
to  say  that  he  had  forgotten  his  newspaper : 

"I  left  it  for  you.  Don't  you  want  to  read  it?"  he 
asked.  "I  can  get  another  at  the  subway  station." 

She  shook  her  head :  "There's  nothing  interesting  in  the 
papers.  I'm  just  from  Paris,  and  I  know  more  about  the 
fashions  than  they  do." 

Bayard  shuddered  a  little,  inly.  The  times  were  epic. 
Immortal  progress  was  being  made  as  never  before: 
ancient  despotisms  were  turning  into  republics,  republics 

84 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

were  at  war  with  one  another;  constitutions,  labor  prob- 
lems, life  problems,  all  social  institutions,  were  being  ripped 
up  and  remade,  all  the  relations  of  masters  and  men,  mis- 
tresses, children,  wives,  animals.  History  was  being  carved 
in  granite  blocks,  and  nearly  every  day  there  was  a  monu- 
mental deed  that  would  be  a  mile-stone  on  the  road  of  time. 

Only  recently  the  United  States  had  seized  the  port  of 
Vera  Cruz  and  landed  troops  with  the  loss  of  lives  because 
the  Mexican  President  would  not  salute  the  insulted  flag. 
It  was  inconceivable  then  that  a  year  later  the  Mexican 
President  would  be  an  exile,  running  his  lawn-mower  on 
a  Long  Island  lawn,  peacefully  basking  under  the  flag 
he  never  did  salute  before  he  died  in  an  American  hospital. 
No  one  dreamed  that  the  atrocities  of  savage  Mexico 
would  be  forgotten  in  the  barbarities  of  civilized  Europe. 
But  even  then  everybody  was  compelled  to  say,  "These 
are  great  days  we  are  living  in." 

Yet  Leila  said  there  was  nothing  in  the  papers !  Revo- 
lutionary news  meant  to  her  a  change  in  the  fashion  in 
sleeves,  the  shift  of  the  equatorial  waist-line  a  trifle  nearer 
the  bust  or  a  trifle  nearer  the  hips,  the  release  of  the  an- 
kles from  tight  skirts.  The  great  rebellion  in  her  world 
was  the  abrupt  decision  of  the  dressmakers  that  after 
years  of  costumes  clinging  more  and  more  closely  to  the 
human  outline  they  would  depart  from  it  in  every  way 
possible.  They  would  seek  eccentric  contours  and  masses 
of  fabric,  beginning,  however,  below  the  shoulders  and 
revealing  to  a  startled  and  helpless  world  of  men  the 
hitherto  forbidden  realm  of  the  armpit.  As  Tom  Duane 
said  in  his  club  one  day,  "The  women  have  taken  every 
other  exclusive  privilege  away  from  the  men  except  the 
razor — and  now  they're  after  that." 

And  indeed  this  which  might  be  called  the  axillary 
revolution  was  the  greatest  revolution  of  the  time  to 
American  women.  Before  many  months  the  papers  were 
actually  carrying  advertisements,  not  only  of  votes,  but 
of  razors  for  women! 

85 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

The  first  impulse  is  to  laugh  or  to  storm,  but,  after  all, 
perhaps  among  the  fatuous  futilities  of  male  ambitions 
and  conflicts,  it  was  just  as  important  to  mankind  that 
the  armpits  should  be  revealed  as  the  Balkan  conspiracy, 
or  the  secrets  of  the  Steel  Trust. 

In  any  case,  Leila  was  interested  vitally  in  what 
women  would  wear  and  what  they  would  leave  off, 
and  grandly  indifferent  to  which  nations  were  shooting 
at  which. 

Bayard's  horror  was  wasted.  He  should  have  realized 
that  it  is  not  given  to  one  soul  to  be  at  the  same  time  a 
beautiful,  amorous  young  girl  and  a  gray-bearded  professor 
of  mathematics. 

If  he  had  married  the  professor  he  would  have  been 
perhaps  even  more  disappointed  than  he  was  in  Leila's 
irresponsiveness.  He  would  not  have  found  a  divine 
exultation  in  holding  the  professor  of  mathematics  on  his 
lap,  nor  a  superhuman  thrill  in  debating  the  problem  of 
who  loves  whom  the  mostest.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
would  be  times  when  the  professor  of  mathematics  would 
entertain  him  as  a  relief  from  too  much  sweets. 

The  mind  pendulates  from  extreme  to  extreme,  and 
even  Romeo  wanted  to  go  among  men,  enduring  Mercutio's 
club  satire  and  crossing  swords  with  the  bloody  Tybalt, 
and  Mark  Antony  knew  what  it  was  to  feel  smothered 
even  in  the  breast  of  Cleopatra. 

Love,  after  all,  is  a  kind  of  summer  Sabbath  in  a  man's 
workaday  week;  and  it  was  Monday  morning  to  Bayard. 
He  was  eager  to  get  back  to  work.  He  was  as  thirsty  for 
his  office  as  a  young  man  who  has  dipped  into  his  sweet- 
heart's box  of  chocolate  creams  is  thirsty  for  a  glass  of  ice- 
water. 

Bur  he  lingered  among  the  gossamers  Leila  had  spun 
about  him,  unable  to  unwind  himself  without  breaking 
them  and  hurting  her. 

He  hesitated,  appealed  again  to  his  watch,  gasped  at 
the  hour  and  the  minutes,  kissed  Leila  violently,  kissed 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  and  kissed  his  mother  and  rushed  for  the  door. 
Leila  put  out  her  arms  again. 

"I  must  be  last,"  she  cried,  and  as  he  bowed  into  her 
arms  she  kissed  his  ear  and  whispered,  "and  first,  too, 
and  all  the  betweens." 

He  nodded,  and  glanced  again  at  his  mother,  who  knew 
what  was  being  said  and  tried  in  vain  not  to  feel  the  knife 
that  shoved  into  her  heart. 

Bayard  felt  another  knife  in  his,  and,  whirling  out  of 
Leila's  embrace,  went  out  into  the  hall,  stabbed  the  ele- 
vator bell  with  his  thumb,  and  waited,  fuming. 

The  door  opened  with  a  kind  of  stealth  and  Leila 
slipped  out  to  take  him  in  her  arms  again,  and  to  ask, 
with  as  much  uncertainty  as  if  he  had  given  no  proof  of 
his  devotion,  "Are  you  sorry  you  married  me?" 

He  wanted  to  cry  out,  "My  God!  what's  the  use  of 
saying  it  again?"  but  he  answered  her  with  an  earnestness, 
whose  petulance  was  all  she  received:  "Of  course  not! 
I  have  everything  in  the  world  I  want.  I'm  the  happiest 
man  on  earth.  Good-by,  sweet.  Here's  the  elevator." 

"Good-by.  Come  home  early,"  she  sighed,  and  re- 
treated. She  closed  the  door  only  enough  to  leave  a 
crevice  to  whisper  a  little  wail  through;  it  was  like  a 
doleful  murmur  from  a  grave:  "Good-by!" 

Bayard  stepped  into  the  elevator;  it  fell  swiftly  to 
earth.  He  ran  for  the  subway  kiosk,  bounded  down  the 
steps  as  a  train  slid  in,  and  cursed  under  his  breath  because 
a  fumbling  woman  at  the  ticket  window  picked  up  her 
change  deliberately.  He  shot  a  nickel  under  the  wicket, 
snatched  his  ticket  off  the  glass,  flung  it  at  the  chopping- 
box,  and  plunged  for  the  train  as  the  door  closed  in  front 
of  him  like  a  gentle  sarcasm.  He  hated  the  stolid  guard 
behind  the  glass,  and  stalked  the  platform  in  wrath  till 
the  next  train  slid  up. 

Bayard  was  a  business  man  from  his  cradle  days. 
He  loved  promptitude.  He  blushed  to  arrive  late  at  his 

87 


tHE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

office  and  set  a  bad  example  to  his  stenographers  and 
clerks.  It  was  his  creed  that  success  comes  to  those  who 
arrive  earlier  on  the  battle-field  than  the  others,  fight 
harder,  stay  longest  there,  and  end  every  day  with  the 
next  day's  manoeuvers  clearly  realized  as  part  of  the  next 
month's  campaign. 

There  was  need  for  concentration  in  his  business,  for 
he  had  brought  back  from  Europe  a  sense  of  great  disaster 
in  the  air.  And  there  was  no  encouragement  in  American 
business  except  an  instinctive  feeling  that  the  worst 
must  be  over  because  it  had  lasted  so  long. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

E VILA'S  heart  sank  with  the  elevator  that  took  her 
lower  in  the  depths.  She  closed  the  door  and  leaned 
against  it,  sorrowing.  She  wished  to  be  alone  and  have 
a  good  cry.  In  her  mood  the  griefs  of  love  were  as  much 
a  part  of  its  luxuries  as  the  joys.  They  were  black,  but 
of  a  soft  and  velvet  blackness. 

It  angered  her  that  her  lover's  sister  and  mother  should 
be  watching  for  her  return  with  all  their  eyes.  She  was 
not  ready  f(3r  the  scrutiny  of  strangers,  and  they  were 
something  worse  than  strangers.  She  felt  the  need  of 
what  many  so-called  savages  have  formed  into  an  institu- 
tion— that  relatives-in-law  should  not  exchange  glances, 
such  awful,  such  unmentionable  mysteries  being  under- 
stood among  them! 

But  there  was  no  escape  for  her,  and  she  went  back  to 
her  ordeal  with  as  much  bravery  as  she  could.  She  tried 
by  praising  Bayard  to  appease  the  mother  and  sister  for 
her  theft  of  the  heart  of  their  man. 

"Can  you  ever  forgive  me  for  marrying  your  wonderful 
son?"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Kip,  "  and  your  wonderful  brother?" 
to  Daphne. 

"Why — why — "  was  all  that  Mrs.  Kip  could  mumble. 

"I  haven't  taken  him  from  you,  of  course,"  she  said. 
"He  loves  you  both  with  all  his  heart.  I'm  just  an  old 
outsider.  Will  you  forgive  me?" 

When  people  rob  us  of  our  things  it  is  not  half  so 
painful  if  they  will  admit  that  the  things  they  have  taken 
are  ours.  Mrs.  Kip  was  touched  by  Leila's  apology. 
She  silently  took  the  girl  into  her  arms,  and  JDaphne 
squeezed  her  hand,  saying: 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"We're  as  proud  of  you  as  Punch.  Bayard  couldn't 
have  chosen  better  from  all  the  world." 

Leila  was  in  need  of  such  support.  She  brightened  as 
she  turned  to  Daphne.  "And  my  little  new  sister  is 
going  to  get  married,  too!  Oh,  I  hope  you'll  be  happier 
than  happy.  And  of  course  you  will  be.  I  know  Clay 
pretty  well.  He's  an  awfully  nice  boy.  Of  course  there's 
only  one  Bayard,  but — I'm  sure  you'll  be  happy." 

Daphne  smiled.  "I'm  sure  I  shall."  But  her  heart 
was  not  sure;  her  heart  was  wondering. 

Curiously,  her  first  dread  of  unhappiness  had  come 
from  watching  a  pair  of  lovers  on  that  summit  of  bliss, 
where  the  young  bridegroom  first  leaves  the  warm  arms 
of  his  bride  to  charge  forth  into  the  lists  with  lance 
couched  and  her  favors  on  his  sleeve. 

Her  next  grief  came  from  the  rapturous  vision  of  Leila's 
trousseau.  Leila's  maid  arrived  now  and  was  set  to  un- 
packing. She  added  her  squeals  to  the  choruses  of  rapture. 

Leila's  father  and  mother  had  given  her  what  money 
they  could  spare,  and  more,  to  spend  on  her  equipment 
abroad.  Bayard  had  contributed  further.  The  result 
was  a  gorgeous  heap  of  loot.  When  Daphne  and  her 
mother  had  wrung  their  hands  and  exhausted  their  ad- 
jectives over  the  last  stitch  of  the  innermost  lingerie 
Leila  said: 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Daphne  amazed  her  by  saying,  "It  makes  me  want  to 
commit  suicide,  that's  all." 

"Why?    For  Heaven's  sake,  why?" 

"Because  your  clothes  will  make  mine  look  so  old- 
fashioned  and  ugly.  And  we've  worn  out  ourselves  and 
our  welcome  and  our  money.  We  were  going  to  dazzle 
Cleveland  with  the  latest  word  from  New  York.  But  we 
can't  afford  what  we've  seen,  and  now  you've  shown  us 
that  what  we've  seen  isn't  the  latest." 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  let  anything  discourage  you,"  Leila 
pleaded.  "  Getting  a  trousseau  is  one  of  the  worst  horrors 

90 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

of  marriage.  The  poor  peasant  girls  begin  their  trous- 
seaux when  they  are  children.  The  New  York  shop- 
girls work  for  a  year.  But  you've  got  to  have  nice  things. 
What  have  you  planned  to  get?" 

"Mother  and  I  started  a  list,"  Daphne  groaned,  "but 
it  got  so  long  we  gave  it  up,  and  I  don't  know  how  much 
we're  in  for." 

"Let  me  help  you!"  Leila  cried. 

Close  to  the  joy  of  matchmaking  in  a  woman's  heart 
lies  the  ecstasy  of  selecting  a  bride's  wardrobe  or  a  forth- 
coming baby's  layette. 

So  the  three  women,  bride-elect,  bride  of  a  month,  and 
bride  of  long  ago,  put  their  heads  together  in  a  council 
of  war. 

"Now  let  me  see.  What  have  you  just  got  to  have?" 
said  Leila.  "Wait  till  I  get  some  paper.  First,  of 
course,  is  the  wedding-gown." 

"The  whole  thing  is  mapped  out  in  this  article  in 
Vogue,"  said  Mrs.  Kip.  "Read  it,  Daphne,  and  Leila 
can  jot  down  the  items  and  what  they'll  cost." 

"It  begins  encouragingly,  anyway,"  said  Daphne,  and 
she  read  the  sub-title: 

"To  buy  enough,  yet  not  too  much,  to  resist  the  wiles  of 
couturier  and  modiste,  and  yet  to  provide  clothes  for  every 
possible  emergency,  is  the  difficult  problem  of  the  bride." 

She  read  on,  skimmingly: 

"  It  is  a  common  fault  of  brides  to  buy  too  much. . . .  Naturally, 
a  bride  is  supposed  to  be  completely  fitted  out  and  no  allowance 
is  made  for  any  omissions.  .  .  .  For  her  who  is  to  marry  in 
May  or  June  the  problem  is  far  simpler  than  for  one  who  plans 
an  October  or  November  wedding.  ...  It  is  assumed  that  the 
bride  will  have  already  purchased  her  spring  clothes  and  will 
have  on  hand  a  suit  or  two,  a  one-piece  frock  of  serge  or  similar 
material,  a  top-coat,  an  afternoon  coat  or  one  of  the  new  capes, 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

evening  gowns  and  an  evening  wrap,  one  or  two  afternoon  or 
luncheon  frocks,  and  hats,  shoes,  and  similar  accessories  that 
are  still  in  good  condition." 

Daphne  lowered  the  magazine  and  sighed:  "That's 
the  worst  of  it.  I  haven't  a  thing  that's  fit  to  wear.  I 
waited  to  get  my  summer  things  in  New  York,  and  I'm 
coming  here  to  live,  and  what  Cleveland  things  I  have 
won't  do.  Oh,  dear,  poor  dad!" 

Mrs.  Kip  was  less  pitiful.  "He  wouldn't  buy  you  half 
you  needed  last  winter,  so  he'll  have  to  make  up  for  it 
now.  Go  on  and  read." 

A  war  cabinet  figuring  out  the  necessary  military  ap- 
propriations for  a  big  campaign  could  not  have  been  more 
anxious  or  felt  more  sure  that  any  omission  was  dangerous. 
A  war  cabinet  could  not  have  felt  more  justified  in  in- 
curring future  burdens  for  present  necessities. 

Daphne  read  and  Leila  wrote  down  the  catalogue,  be- 
ginning at  "morning  wear"  and  ending  at  "night  wear," 
with  every  wear  between. 

Daphne  had  never  attempted  a  complete  outfit  before 
and  she  was  aghast  at  the  number  of  things  a  woman 
required  for  her  investiture. 

After  the  all-important  wedding-gown  had  been  de- 
bated, and  the  going-away  gown  and  the  gowns  of  all 
occasions,  there  remained  the  parasols  and  hats  and  gloves 
and  shoes  and  slippers  and  stockings.  These  had  to  be  a 
little  splendid,  for  a  bride  is  the  peculiar  pet  of  observa- 
tion, and  a  meager  outfit  is  a  scandal  against  her  father,  a 
disgrace  to  her  husband. 

Once  the  outer  integuments  were  chosen  with  some 
thought  of  grandeur  or  refinement,  it  would  be  odious 
hypocrisy  and  the  worst  of  domestic  management  to  have 
the  inner  petals  cheap  or  plain.  And  Daphne,  noting  with 
dismay  how  long  already  was  the  list  that  Leila  made, 
read  with  sinking  heart  the  next  to  the  last  paragraph 
concerning  things  which  were  once  "unmentionables," 

92 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

but  which  the  advertising  pages  of  the  magazines  and 
newspapers  of  our  time  have  made  familiar  with  the  ut- 
most candor: 

"As  regards  the  amount  of  underwear  which  should  be 
included  in  the  trousseau,  opinions  differ  greatly.  Even  the 
simplest  of  trousseaux,  however,  will  require  at  least  three 
corsets,  one  for  sports  and  morning  wear — even  two,  if  possible — 
and  two  for  afternoon  and  evening  use.  If  changed  frequently, 
corsets  keep  their  shape  and  wear  for  a  much  longer  period. 
There  should  be  at  least  eight  nightgowns,  six  chemises  or  six 
combinations,  or  twelve  pairs  of  drawers  and  six  corset-covers 
if  one  prefers  them  to  combinations.  Of  petticoats  there  will 
be  needed  from  four  to  six  very  simple  models,  possibly  only 
buttonholed  at  the  edge,  for  morning  wear  and  sports;  two 
embroidered  petticoats — one  a  bit  more  decorative  for  after- 
noon use,  two  of  lace  and  embroidery  (or  one  may  be  of  chiffon 
or  net  and  lace  for  fine  white  frocks),  and  at  least  two  evening 
skirts  of  chiffon.  Many  girls  who  dance  a  great  deal  buy  the 
very  simple,  untrimmed,  pleated  chiffon  skirts,  usually  flesh 
pink,  to  wear  under  frocks  which  have  an  underskirt  or  are  not 
transparent." 

There  was  a  dismal  pause  while  Leila  wrote  down 
these  things  and  set  opposite  each  of  them  her  estimate 
of  what  the  price  should  be.  There  were  debates  and  com- 
promises at  every  point,  but  at  length  the  schedule  was 
done. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  in  spite  of  the  ominous  bulk, 
the  prices  were  all  of  them  moderate.  They  were  better 
than  poor;  the  things  they  bought  would  be  nice,  very 
nice.  But  there  would  be  nothing  glorious  about  them — 
the  truly  rich  would  inevitably  call  them  mediocre.  It  is 
odious  to  ruin  oneself  for  a  tawdry  ostentation. 

And  this  was  the  list.  As  Leila  read  it  aloud  her  care- 
less soul  rejoiced  at  its  completeness  and  the  vision  of  its 
amalgamated  beauty,  while  Mrs.  Kip  and  Daphne  passed 
from  anxiety,  via  horror,  to  absolute  collapse.  But  this 

93 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

was  the  list — a  diplomatic  White  Book  of  great  historical 
value,  a  typical  document  in  a  typical  love-story  of  the 
spring  of  1914 — far  more  absorbing  to  those  interested 
than  any  love-letter  ever  written: 

Bridal  gown $225.00 

Bridal  veil 50.00 

Bridal  slippers 10.00 

GOWNS  AND  SUITS 

Going-away  gown $i 25.00 

Hat  and  shoes  for  same 50.00 

i  blue  garbardine  suit 145.00 

3  morning  dresses 75-oo 

i  evening  gown 185.00 

1  evening  gown 1 25.00 

2  formal  lingerie  gowns: 

i  at 85.00 

i  at 75-°° 

i  afternoon  gown  of  charmeuse 125.00 

i  dinner  gown 185.00 

1  sports  suit 45.00 

2  white  corduroy  skirts 10.00 

2  white  pique"  skirts 10.00 

2  white  linen 12.00 

WAISTS 

2  white  silk  wash  blouses $12.00 

2  white  crepe  wash  blouses 12.00 

2  white  handkerchief  linen 10.00 

i  white  chiffon  blouse 14.00 

i  pink  chiffon  blouse 22.00 

HATS 

i  leghorn  garden  hat $45.00 

i  afternoon  hat  (large) 50.00 

i  afternoon  hat  (small) 40.00 

i  sports  hat 14.00 

i  morning  hat 25.00 

94 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

SHOES 

3  pairs  satin  evening  slippers $24.00 

i  pair  walking  boots 7.00 

pair  patent  leather  slippers 10.00 

pair  white  buckskin  shoes 15.00 

pair  tan  ties 8.00 

pair  dress  shoes 14.00 

pair  satin  mules 8.00 

pair  traveling  folding  slippers 3.00 

i  pair  tennis  shoes 6.00 

COATS  AND  WRAPS 

i  silk  sweater $29.00 

i  white  corduroy  coat 15.00 

i  evening  coat,  taffeta 150.00 

i  heavy  motor  or  traveling  cloak 90.00 

i  lace  evening  scarf 30.00 

i  chiffon  evening  scarf 12.00 

PARASOLS 

i  dark-green  silk $12.00 

i  rose  and  ivory 16.00 

1  white  painted  chiffon 30.00 

Veils $25.00 

GLOVES 

6  pairs  glace"  evening  gloves $24.00 

4  pairs  chamois  gloves 8.00 

6  pairs  short  white  glace"  gloves 12.00 

4  pairs  colored  suede  gloves 8.00 

LINGERIE 

3  corsets $72.00 

3  chiffon  evening  petticoats 18.00 

2  crdpe  petticoats 14.00 

i  taffeta  petticoat , 12.00 

4  white  wash  petticoats 28.00 

i  fine  lingerie  petticoat 26.00 

95 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

3  princess  slips  for  lingerie  gowns $21.00 

1  satin  morning  petticoat 12.00 

4  nightgowns 48.00 

2  nightgowns 1 2.00 

6  silk  skirts 36.00 

6  pairs  black  silk  stockings 12.00 

2  pairs  fine  silk  stockings 12.00 

6  pairs  white  silk  stockings 12.00 

6  pairs  assorted  colors  silk  stockings 16.00 

6  cre"pe  combinations 56.00 

3  muslin  hand-embroidered  combinations.  42.00 

i  chiffon  tea  gown 60.00 

i  crepe  negligee 18.00 

i  crepe  negligee 12.00 

i  chiffon  breakfast  jacket 24.00 

3  chiffon  and  lace  boudoir  caps 17.00 

3  crdpe  boudoir  caps 9.00 

3  dozen  handkerchiefs  with  initial 21.00 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  the  death-warrant  was 
ended. 

If  it  had  been  a  suddenly  revealed  list  of  Clay  Wim- 
burn's  secret  crimes  Daphne  could  not  have  felt  it  more 
dramatic.  For  money  matters  are  the  continuous  drama 
of  our  lives.  They  thrill  us  to  our  noblest  and  basest 
souls  and  test  them  crucially. 

Mrs.  Kip  had  lived  long  enough  to  be  prepared  for 
anything  atrocious,  and  disappointment  was  her  daily 
bread.  She  had  a  positive  appetite  for  it.  She  asked, 
hungrily,  "What  does  it  total  up?" 

Totaling  it  up  was  a  task  that  overwhelmed  all  three. 
Leila  added  up  and  down  and  totaled  the  totals.  The 
totals  up  were  not  at  all  akin  to  the  totals  down.  The 
multiplications  and  subtractions  did  not  prove.  Daphne 
tried  her  hand  with  several  new  results  all  discrepant  with 
Leila's  bookkeeping  and  her  own.  Mrs.  Kip  declined  to 
attempt  such  a  mountain  of  figures. 

But  while  the  results  varied  picturesquely  in  details, 

96 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

they  agreed  that  the  amount  required  for  this  modest 
equipment  was  something  a  little  under  or  a  little  over 
three  thousand  dollars. 

"Three  thousand  dollars!"  Daphne  cried.  "It  might 
as  well  be  three  million.  That  finishes  it.  I'll  be  married 
in  my  mackintosh  and  a  pair  of  rubber  boots." 

97 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IT  was  a  time  when  everybody  was  cutting  down  appro- 
priations, reducing  expenses.  Cities,  counties,  states, 
nations  were  all  paying  the  penalty  of  former  extrava- 
gances by  present  economies.  Rich  people  were  posi- 
tively boastful  of  their  penuries. 

The  three  women  assailed  their  list  with  the  ruthless- 
ness  of  an  auditing  committee.  They  cut  out  this  and 
that,  decided  that  this  gown  could  be  omitted  or  post- 
poned, that  waist  could  be  had  in  a  cheaper  quality,  these 
parasols  were  not  really  necessary,  those  stockings  need 
not  be  so  numerous  all  at  once. 

On  further  revision  the  longing  for  completeness  seized 
them  again ;  they  restored  as  many  things  as  they  took  off. 
It  seemed  intolerable  for  Daphne  to  approach  the  married 
estate  like  a  traveler  whose  baggage  has  been  lost  in  a 
wreck. 

And  yet  even  Mrs.  Kip  admitted  that  the  whole  array 
was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  her  husband's  means.  Still 
she  insisted  that  he  could  provide  a  partial  trousseau  at 
least.  She  herself  would  "go  without  things"  for  ten 
years  if  necessary. 

Daphne,  however,  was  haunted  by  the  vision  of  her 
father's  harrowed,  money-hungry  face.  When  her  mother 
reminded  her  that  it  Was  his  last  chance  to  do  anything 
for  her,  she  retorted,  "Yes,  and  it's  my  last  chance  to  do 
anything  for  him." 

In  her  patience  she  attacked  the  wedding-gown  itself: 

"Why  have  a  wedding-gown?  And  that  veil  business. 
I'm  no  shy  young  flower  not  ready  to  be  seen !  Everybody 

98 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

has  seen  me.  And  why  must  we  have  the  wedding  in  a 
church?  Why  give  a  reception?  It's  only  to  show  off 
before  a  lot  of  people  in  a  town  I'm  going  to  move  away 
from.  And  if  I  were  going  to  stay  there  what  difference 
would  it  make?  They  all  know  me.  And  they'd  all 
know  that  I  bankrupted  poor  dad  and  robbed  mamma 
of  money  that  would  have  bought  her  luxuries  for  years — 
and  all  for  what  ? — to  walk  down  a  church  aisle  and  have 
everybody  say  'Ooh!'  And  they  wouldn't  say  it!" 

Mrs.  Kip  stared  aghast  at  this  assault  on  sacred  institu- 
tions. It  was  almost  atheism.  Leila  tried  to  quiet  the 
young  rebel: 

"It's  not  that,  dear,"  said  Leila.  "But  you've  got 
to  have  some  new  things.  You  can't  march  into  your 
husband's  life  with  no  equipment.  You  can't  expect  him 
to  fit  you  out." 

Daphne  remembered  Clay's  financial  cramps,  and  real- 
ized that  if  she  wanted  any  clothes  she  would  better  take 
them  from  her  father.  Clay  had  made  her  walk  down 
Riverside  Drive  because  he  was  out  of  funds;  how  could 
she  count  on  his  filling  out  her  wardrobe? 

Her  pride  was  wrung  by  her  plight.  She  must  either 
go  shabby  or  cause  acute  distress  to  one  or  both  of  the  men 
that  were  dearest  of  all  in  the  world  to  her.  She  must 
leave  behind  her  a  burden  of  debt  as  a  farewell  tribute  to 
her  father,  or  she  must  bring  with  her  a  burden  of  debt 
as  her  dot. 

"No!"  she  cried,  with  a  sudden  impatient  slash  at 
the  Gordian  knot.  "Clay  will  have  to  take  me  just  as  I 
am  or  take  back  this  diamond  ring  he  wished  on  me." 

Her  defiance  was  not  convincing.  Her  mother  pro- 
tested: 

"It's  not  Clay  that  you  have  to  consider.  He'll  never 
know  what  you  have  on.  It's  the  guests  at  the  wedding — 
and  your  old  friends  and  the  neighbors.  You  don't  want 
them  to  think  we're  poor  and  that  your  father  is  marrying 
you  off  cheap,  do  you?" 

99 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  flared  back,  "It  seems  mighty  foolish  to  go  and 
make  yourself  really  poor  in  order  to  keep  from  seeming 
poor,  especially  when  you  never  fool  anybody  except 
yourself." 

Leila,  with  the  magnanimity  of  a  native  spendthrift, 
tried  to  soothe  the  fever  of  the  rebel : 

"I  know  just  how  you  feel,  my  dear.  I've  often  been 
through  it  myself.  But  I  realized  that  it's  a  girl's  business 
to  look  well  and  she  can't  succeed  without  help.  The 
men  would  rather  work  a  little  harder  and  have  us  hand- 
some than  loaf  and  have  us  dowdy.  And  if  we  didn't 
spend  the  money  on  clothes,  they'd  spend  it  on  more 
foolish  things,  like  speculations.  My  father  has  lost 
thousands  of  dollars  on  investments  that  might  just  as 
well  have  been  spent  on  my  clothes."  She  was  a  philos- 
opher of  a  sort,  Leila. 

Mrs.  Kip  agreed  with  her  heartily.  Among  her  bit- 
terest grievances  against  her  husband  were  the  sums  he 
had  lost  in  stocks  and  bonds,  in  indorsing  notes  for 
friends,  and  in  trying  to  increase  his  income  by  the  usual 
methods  of  financial  agriculture.  She  would  have  given 
Leila  her  unbounded  approval  if  it  had  not  been  her  own 
son  who  was  to  support  Leila's  pretty  theory  that  a 
husband's  money  is  made  to  buy  a  wife  pretty  things 
with. 

Leila  pressed  her  success:  "Anyway,  it  won't  do  any 
harm  to  look  about  a  little.  If  you  can't  have  the  whole 
trousseau,  you  can  have  two  or  three  extra-nice  things. 
You  might  pick  up  some  wonderful  bargains.  Let's  go 
prowling  around,  anyway.  I  may  see  something  I  want 
for  myself.  Bayard  dragged  me  away  from  Paris  before 
I  had  finished  shopping.  There  are  several  things  I 
need  desperately." 

Daphne  glanced  at  the  little  mountains  of  clothes 
heaped  up  about  the  apartment,  and  understood  what 
Bayard  had  felt.  Still,  Daphne  was  very  woman,  and 
she  is  no  woman  who  can  resist  the  Wanderlust  of  exploring 

200 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  bazars.     But  Daphne  resolved  loftily  that  she  would 
not  buy. 

The  three  wise  women  set  forth :  they  joined  the  petti- 
coated  army  pouring  from  all  the  homes  like  a  levee  en 
masse,  a  foray  of  pretty  Huns. 

They  meant  hardly  more  than  to  observe  and  investi- 
gate. But  the  first  shop  they  stopped  at  roused  in  them 
a  frenzy  to  possess.  Daphne  was  beautiful  and  loved 
beauty.  She  revered  the  correct  and  the  new. 

It  humiliated  her  to  realize  that  the  dressmaker's 
models  were  looking  at  her  street  suit  and  saying  to 
themselves  that  it  was  built  on  yesterday's  pattern. 
The  edict  had  just  gone  forth  from  the  high  places  that 
the  "slim,  straight  silhouette"  was  no  longer  right.  It 
would  soon  be  indecent  to  go  about  in  skirts  and  waists 
that  followed  the  body  and  clung  to  it.  There  was  a 
kind  of  pauper's  nakedness  in  it.  It  would  bring  discredit 
on  the  fathers  and  brothers  and  husbands  of  the  shame- 
less creatures  whose  costumes  did  not  flare. 

The  same  shame  is  felt  among  men  for  other  sorts  of 
unfashionableness.  It  fills  with  remorse  the  scientist 
who  finds  that  he  has  been  wearing  in  public  an  hy- 
pothesis that  was  referred  to  last  week  in  Science  as  an 
exploded  theory.  The  American  author  blushes  to  find 
that  an  English  book-reviewer  has  derided  one  of  his 
expressions  as  an  Americanism.  The  doctor,  the  parson, 
the  business  man,  the  painter,  musician,  all  or  any  who 
are  caught  abroad  in  the  daylight  in  ideas  that  are  just 
out  of  style,  repent  the  crime  of  being  unfashionable. 

Leila  conducted  her  little  troop  finally  to  the  famous 
dress-laboratory  in  which  Lady  Powell-Beauclerc  (spoken 
"pole-buckler")  experimented  in  whimsies.  Leila  had 
once  had  the  distinction  of  buying  several  gowns  and  hats 
of  Lady  P.-B.,  and  she  was  on  the  glorious  list  of  those 
who  were  invited  to  the  first  view  of  each  new  season's 
output — the  varnishing  day,  as  it  were,  of  the  style  gallery. 

101 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Lady  Powell-Beauclerc  happened  to  be  passing  through 
her  shop.  She  pretended  to  remember  Leila  and  Leila 
introduced  Mrs.  Kip  and  Daphne  to  her.  Mrs.  Kip 
almost  swooned  and  Daphne  was  hard  put  to  it  to  act  as  if 
she  were  used  to  meeting  Ladies  with  a  capital  L.  Before 
she  left  she  was  rather  giving  the  impression  that  she 
bought  her  shoes  of  a  countess  and  her  green  groceries  of 
an  earl. 

When  Lady  Powell-Beauclerc  learned  that  the  exquisite 
Daphne  was  about  to  be  a  bride  she  greeted  her  with 
rapture: 

"Oh  my  dear !  You  are  just  the  child  I'm  looking  for — 
color,  size,  everything!  You  shall  be  the  first  to  wear 
my  newest  dreams.  I  have  two  newest  dreams,  and  you 
may  have  first  choice." 

She  proceeded  to  describe  the  costumes  with  an  orgy  of 
technical  terms  that  would  be  tolerated  from  none  but  a 
writer  of  nautical  stories.  A  layman  could  understand 
nothing  of  it  except  that  one  of  the  bridal  robes  had  no 
train  at  all  and  that  the  other  had  two. 

Before  Daphne  could  explain  that  she  dared  not  choose 
either  gown,  Lady  Powell-Beauclerc,  like  a  great  pianist 
who  will  either  not  play  at  all  or  will  not  stop,  once  started, 
was  away  on  a  rhapsody  concerning  the  costumes  for  the 
six  bridesmaids. 

These  were  triumphant — they  included  embryonic 
hoopskirts  and  more  or  less  deprecatory  pantalets. 
Daphne  was  enchanted  with  the  vision  of  herself  in  a  two- 
trained  gown  sailing  down  the  aisle  as  the  flag-ship  of 
such  a  white  squadron.  She  could  have  wept  at  the 
cruelty  that  denied  her  the  great  experience.  But  she 
did  not  tell  Lady  Powell-Beauclerc  that  she  could  not 
afford  the  bridesmaids,  or  that  she  could  not  afford  to  be 
one  of  Lady  Powell-Beauclerc's  most  exclusive  brides. 

Instead,  she  and  her  heartsick  mother  made  ready  to 
retreat  by  asking  the  prices,  discussing  the  details,  and 
generally  comporting  themselves  as  if  they  were  going 

102 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

to  buy.  Under  the  cover  of  this  maneuver  they  escaped 
gracefully.  Among  men,  this  same  method  is  also  used 
for  bringing  off  hopelessly  defeated  armies;  the  rear 
guard  attacks  with  vigor  and  pretends  to  be  ready  for 
anything;  then  vanishes. 

Lady  Powell-Beauclerc  disgustedly  recognized  the  fa- 
miliar symptoms,  and  turned  the  Kips  over  to  a  sales- 
woman to  be  put  out  quietly. 

The  three  Kips  rallied  on  the  pavement  outside  and 
tried  to  console  themselves  by  saying  that  Lady  Powell- 
Beauclerc's  ideas  were  ridiculous  and  her  prices  were 
murderous.  Why  deny  the  hungry  fox  the  poor  solace 
of  calling  the  high  grapes  sour? 

Daphne  and  her  mother  and  Leila  wandered  from  shop 
to  shop  like  a  trio  of  foxes;  but  the  barriers  of  price  were 
too  lofty  everywhere,  or  where  the  prices  were  low  the 
styles  were  lower. 

At  length  they  reached  the  alluring  place  where  the 
famous  Dutilh,  like  an  amiable  Mephistopheles,  offered 
to  buy  souls  in  exchange  for  robes  of  angelic  charm. 

In  the  window,  on  a  dummy,  with  no  head,  no  feet,  and 
a  white  satin  bust,  hung  a  gown  that  seemed  to  cry  aloud 
to  Daphne: 

"I  belong  to  you  and  you  belong  to  me!  Fill  me  with 
your  flesh  and  I  will  cover  you  with  an  aureole." 

The  three  forlorn  women  understood  the  message  in- 
stantly. They  looked  at  one  another,  then,  without  a 
word,  entered  the  shop,  doomed  in  advance. 

Leila  was  known  to  Dutilh  and  he  greeted  her  with  an 
extravagant  impudence  that  terrified  Mrs.  Kip: 

"You  little  devil!"  he  hissed.  "Get  right  out  of  my 
theater.  How  dare  you  come  here  after  letting  somebody 
else  build  your  trousseau?" 

Leila  apologized  and  explained  and  he  pretended  to  be 
mollified  as  he  pretended  to  have  been  insulted.  He  even 
praised  the  gown  she  wore,  and  told  her  where  she  got  it  in 

103 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Paris,  and  how  much  she  paid  for  it.  Then  he  had  its 
twin  fetched  out,  and  told  her  that  she  could  have  had  it 
from  him  for  less  than  she  paid  in  Paris. 

Having  thus  made  the  field  his  own,  he  turned  to 
Daphne,  studied  her  frankly  with  narrowed  eyes  as  if  she 
were  asking  to  be  a  model,  and  sighed: 

"Oh,  my  God,  what  a  narrow  escape!" 

Daphne  jumped  and  gasped,  "From  what?" 

"That  gown  in  the  window,  that  Lanvin  that  was  born 
for  you.  You  must  have  seen  it — the  afternoon  one  in 
parchment-toned  taffeta  and  tulle." 

The  women,  astounded  by  his  intuition,  nodded  and 
breathed  hard,  like  terrified  converts  at  a  seance.  He 
was  referring  to  the  one  that  belonged  to  Daphne,  and  he 
went  on: 

"There  was  a  big,  fat,  old  cow  in  here  yesterday, 
that  Spanish  marquesa — used  to  be  Mrs.  Tim  Verplanck, 
you  know.  She  was  simply  determined  to  have  that  gown. 
I  almost  had  to  tear  it  off  her  back.  I  told  her  it  would 
ruin  me  to  have  her  seen  in  it.  She  tried  to  bribe  me  by 
offering  me  twice  the  tag,  but  I  told  her  to  get  out  and  stay 
out." 

The  astounding  thing  was  that  what  he  said  was  true. 
He  was  a  priest  of  beauty  and  more  sincere  than  many 
of  the  more  sober  cloth.  His  sincerity  had  been  his  suc- 
cess, and  women  loved  to  have  him  browbeat  them,  as 
they  love  to  have  their  physicians  and  their  preachers 
browbeat  them,  for  their  own  good. 

The  marquesa  had  surrendered  the  Lanvin  gown,  but 
she  had  been  sufficiently  impressed  to  buy  three  others 
that  Dutilh  selected  for  her.  Honesty  is  the  best  policy. 

In  any  case,  Dutilh  hailed  Daphne  as  the  rightful 
heiress  to  the  Lanvin  gown,  and  ordered  her  to  get  into 
it  at  once. 

She  demurred:  "I'm  afraid  of  the  price.  How  much 
is  it,  please?" 

"Don't  talk  of  money!"  Dutilh  stormed.  "I  hate  it! 

104 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Let's  see  the  gown  on  you."  He  called  one  of  his  tawny 
manikins.  "Help  Miss  Kip  into  this  gown,  Maryla." 

A  mournful-eyed  beauty  led  Daphne  into  a  dressing- 
room  and  acted  as  maid.  Daphne  stepped  out  of  her 
street  suit  into  the  Parisian  froth  as  if  she  were  going 
from  chrysalis  to  butterfly.  Maryla  was  murmurous  with 
homage  as  she  fastened  it  together  and  led  Daphne  forth. 

Mrs.  Kip  felt  as  if  she  had  surrendered  a  mere  daughter 
and  received  back  a  seraphic  changeling.  Daphne  was 
no  longer  a  pretty  girl;  she  was  something  ethereal,  be- 
witched and  bewitching.  If  she  could  own  that  gown 
her  mother  would  be  repaid  for  all  her  pangs  from  travail 
on.  She  would  accept  the  gown  as  advance  royalty  on 
any  future  hardships. 

Daphne's  joy  was  like  steam  within  her,  threatening 
either  to  lift  her  from  the  ground  or  blow  her  to  pieces. 
If  she  had  thought  of  it,  she  would  have  said  that  she 
knew  now  why  women  sin  for  such  costumes.  She  would 
have  questioned  whether  it  could  be  a  sin  to  claim  for 
one's  soul  and  body  such  advantage. 

She  looked  about  for  Leila,  but  Leila  was  gone.  She 
reappeared  a  moment  later  in  a  costume  almost  more 
delicious  than  Daphne's — a  tunic  of  peach-blow  tulle 
caught  up  with  pink  rosebuds  and  hanging  from  a  draped 
bodice  of  peach-blow  satin  that  formed  a  yoke  low  on  the 
hips.  And  there  was  a  narrow  petticoat  of  peach-pink 
satin.  It  was  as  if  peaches  had  a  soul,  as  perhaps  they 
have. 

The  two  girls  in  their  differing,  yet  rivaling,  charms 
faced  each  other  as  a  dryad  and  a  nymph  might  have 
met.  They  were  proud  to  be  themselves  and  proud  to  be 
kinfolk. 

Dutilh  fluttered  from  one  to  the  other,  almost  as  happy 
as  either. 

There  were  times  when  great  warriors  and  statesmen 
used  to  bedeck  themselves  in  just  such  splendors  of 
fabric  and  color  without  loss  of  dignity.  The  sensation 

105 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

of  feeling  oneself  clad  with  the  rainbow  has  long  since  been 
lost  to  malekind.  Among  our  poorer  relations  of  the 
animal  world  the  masculine  still  claims  the  privilege  of 
being  gorgeous,  but  the  man  has  transferred  it  to  his  wife's 
name. 

Perfect  happiness  is  said  to  need  a  bit  of  horror  to  make 
it  complete.  The  happiness  of  the  two  girls  did  not  lack 
that  element.  The  price  of  their  glory  furnished  it. 
They  asked  the  cost  with  anxiousness. 

"The  one  Miss  Kip  has  on,"  said  Dutilh,  "the  mar- 
quesa  offered  me  five  hundred  for.  To  Miss  Kip  I'll  let 
it  go  dirt  cheap  for  three  hundred  and  twenty-five.  The 
one  Miss — er — Mrs.  Kip  has  on  I'll  give  away  for — 
ummh,  well — say  the  same  price." 

Daphne  and  her  mother  were  sickened.  Mrs.  Kip  put 
up  a  fight: 

"Why,  there's  nothing  to  it  but  a  little  taffeta  and 
tulle." 

"There's  nothing  to  a  Raphael  'Madonna'  but  a  little 
paint  and  canvas,"  said  Dutilh.  "You  can  get  a  chromo 
of  it  for  a  dollar  and  a  half." 

Mrs.  Kip  answered  this  quickly:  "How  much  would 
you  copy  these  for?" 

Daphne  winced.     It  was  odious  to  discuss  the  subject. 

"I  can  make  you  a  copy  of  each  for  about  half  price. 
But  it  will  take  some  time." 

"How  much  is  half  of  three  hundred  and  twenty-five 
dollars?"  said  Mrs.  Kip,  whose  brain  balked  at  the 
altitudes. 

Dutilh  told  her.  She  groaned.  But  Daphne  was  suf- 
fering one  of  those  gusts  of  mania  that  ruin  people.  Her 
soul  of  souls  clamored  to  wear  that  very  gown  that  very 
afternoon.  A  copy  of  it  would  be  as  disgusting  as  paste 
jewelry.  Even  to  take  it  off  would  hurt  like  flaying. 

Leila  had  the  same  feeling.  Her  appetite  for  resplen- 
dent gowns  had  grown  with  exercise. 

Dutilh  took  pity  on  them:  "Look  here,"  he  said,  "I'll 
1 06 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

make  the  price  two  hundred  and  seventy-five.     It's  giving 
them  away,  but  you  are  such  visions  in  them!" 

It  was  a  big  reduction,  but  it  left  the  price  still  mountain 
high. 

"I  want  something  to  wear  to-morrow  afternoon," 
Leila  said.  "I've  got  to  go  to  a  tea  and  my  sister  has  to 
go  with  me." 

Daphne  had  not  heard  of  the  tea,  but  she  wanted  some- 
where to  go  in  that  gown. 

Dutilh  smiled:  "Nothing  easier.  Take  the  duds  with 
you  or  let  me  send  them.  Where  are  you  living  now?" 

Leila  told  him  the  name  of  the  apartment  hive.  He 
pondered  that  people  who  lived  there  must  have  a  lot  of 
money  or  a  gift  for  credit.  But  he  said:  "There's  one 
other  gown  I  want  to  show  you.  It  might  suit  you  better. 
And  it's  much  cheaper." 

He  knew  womankind  and  he  knew  that  Daphne  and 
Leila  and  Mrs.  Kip  hated  that  unseen  gown  already.  He 
left  them  in  a  mood  of  rebellion.  They  did  not  want 
anything  else,  especially  anything  cheaper.  He  went  to  a 
telephone  in  his  office,  called  up  a  mercantile  bureau,  and 
asked  after  the  rating  of  Bayard  Kip.  He  received  the 
reassuring  report  that  B.  Kip  was  a  young  man  of  means 
with  an  unusual  record  for  prompt  payments.  He  learned 
his  salary  exactly  and  the  clean  record  that  had  been 
Bayard's  pride. 

Then  he  picked  out  an  unattractive  frock  and  returned. 
The  three  women  turned  up  their  noses  at  it.  Leila  made 
a  confession: 

"The  trouble  is,  Mr.  Dutilh,  that  I'm  just  back  from 
Paris  and  I  haven't  a  cent  left,  and  Miss  Kip  is  buying 
her  trousseau  and  has  spent  more  already  than  she 
expected  to." 

Dutilh  rose  to  the  bait  that  he  had  expected  them  to 
dangle:  " That's  simple.     Why  not  open  an  account  with 
me?    Take  the  gowns  along  and  pay  me  when  you  like." 
hesitated  and  Daphne  shook  her  head, 
107 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Leila  mumbled,  "I  should  have  to  ask  my  husband." 

Daphne  said,  "My  father  wouldn't  like  me  to  start  an 
account." 

"Charge  it  to  your  sister's  account,  then,  and  pay  her." 

But  the  girls  played  the  heroine  even  to  the  taking  off 
of  the  gowns  and  the  return  to  their  street  gear.  They 
bade  the  place  farewell  with  dreary  fortitude,  and  walked 
out. 

But  they  paused  on  the  sidewalk  for  a  conference. 

Daphne  groaned,  "I'll  die  if  I  don't  get  that  gown." 

Leila  said:  "Oh,  come  along!  When  you  feel  like  that 
about  anything,  I  always  say  it's  a  kind  of  an  instinct 
that  it's  something  you  ought  to  buy." 

Daphne  imagined  again  her  father's  worried  look.  She 
shook  her  head: 

"  I  can't  have  it  charged  to  dad.     I  mustn't.     I  won't." 

"Charge  it  to  Bayard,  then,"  said  Leila.  "You  can 
pay  him  whenever  it's  convenient.  He'd  love  to  have 
you  have  it.  Call  it  his  wedding-present." 

Daphne  wavered  in  a  dizzy  whirl  of  torment.  And 
then  she  saw  the  girl  Maryla  appear  in  Dutilh's  window 
and  put  the  Lanvin  gown  back  on  the  form.  Daphne 
could  not  bear  the  sight  of  it  exposed  for  sale.  She 
clutched  Leila's  hand  and  they  went  back. 

"You  say  you  would  charge  them  both  to  me?"  said 
Leila. 

"Certainly,"  said  Dutilh. 

"Send  them,  then,"  said  Leila,  with  imperial  brevity. 

"Thank  you,"  Dutilh  smiled.  "You  shall  have  them 
this  afternoon.  And  by  the  way,  I've  just  remembered  a 
marvelous  design  of  Paul  Poiret's.  Let  me  show  it  to 
you." 

"Come  quick;  let's  run,"  said  Daphne,  and  she  hurried 
out  of  the  infernal  paradise. 


CHAPTER  XV 

r"PHE  Kips  rejoined  the  sidewalk  throngs  and  Daphne's 
1  head  ached  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  guilt. 

"Where  shall  we  go  next?"  said  Leila,  the  insatiable. 

"Let's  go  home  and  get  away  from  the  sight  of  these 
wicked  windows,"  said  Daphne.  "I'll  never  trust  myself 
again." 

"Couldn't  we  have  some  lunch  somewhere?  I'm 
faint,"  sighed  Mrs.  Kip,  who  was  exhausted  with  emotion. 

"I'll  take  you  to  the  Plaza  if  we  can  get  a  taxi,"  said 
Leila. 

"No,  you  won't,"  Mrs.  Kip  exclaimed.  "Let's  eat  at 
some  nice  quiet  place.  Goodness  knows  we've  spent 
enough  money  for  one  day." 

Yet  even  she  felt  that  the  spending  of  so  much  money 
compelled  the  spending  of  more.  People  who  bought  such 
clothes  could  not  afford  to  eat  shabbily. 

They  dawdled  on,  down  the  Avenue,  pausing  at  window 
after  window,  each  flaunting  opportunities  for  self- 
improvement.  But  Daphne's  joy  in  her  new  gown  was 
turning  to  remorse.  She  was  realizing  that  that  parch- 
ment-toned taffeta  needed  parchment-toned  stockings  and 
slippers  and  a  hat  of  the  same  era  as  the  gown. 

She  had  bought  herself  incongruity  at  a  heavy  price. 
And  she  wanted  some  jewelry,  and  an  automobile,  and 
two  men  on  the  box,  and  a  garage.  She  was  really  no 
further  along  than  she  had  been. 

Rich  people  went  by  in  floods,  among  people  who  looked 
rich.  Crested  limousines  were  so  numerous  that  the  very 
mob  seemed  to  be  wealthy.  Where,  then,  was  she — 

109 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  poor  daughter  of  an  anxious  father,  the  destined  bride 
of  a  young  man  of  no  bank  account  ?  Why  could  she  not 
have  been  the  daughter  of  a  millionaire?  Why  could  she 
not  have  loved  a  millionaire  ?  Why  must  she  look  f  orward, 
as  she  looked  backward,  to  a  life  infected  with  the  money 
question? 

She  was  startled  from  her  reveries  by  the  sudden  gasp 
of  Leila: 

"If  there  isn't  Tom  Duane  just  coming  out  of  his  club!" 

"I  met  him  last  night,"  said  Daphne. 

"You  did?     Did  he  say  he  knew  me?" 

"He  said  that  Bayard  stole  you  from  him." 

Leila  was  flattered,  but  loyal:  "Nonsense.  I  was 
never  his  to  steal.  I  never  loved  him,  of  course.  It 
wouldn't  have  done  any  good  if  I  had.  Tom  Duane's  a 
non-marrier.  He's  known  all  the  debutantes  for  years, 
and  most  of  them  have  flirted  at  him,  but  they  couldn't 
get  him." 

"He's  awfully  rich,  I  suppose,"  said  Daphne. 

"No,  not  rich  at  all,  as  rich  people  go.  But  he  was 
mentioned  the  other  day  in  the  will  of  an  old  aunt  he 
used  to  be  nice  to.  He's  nice  to  everybody." 

Duane  met  them  now  and  paused,  bareheaded,  to  greet 
Daphne  with  flattering  cordiality.  She  was  greatly  set 
up  to  be  remembered.  She  presented  him  to  her  mother, 
who  was  completely  upset  at  having  to  meet  so  famous  an 
aristocrat  right  out  in  the  street  when  she  was  still  flus- 
tered over  the  ferocious  price  of  Daphne's  new  dress. 

Leila  spoke  to  him  with  gloating  humor.  "Hullo, 
Tommy!" 

"I  don't  know  you,"  he  said.  He  turned  to  Mrs.  Kip. 
"You  mustn't  blame  me,  Mrs.  Kip,  for  your  son's  trouble. 
I  tried  to  save  him  from  her  by  sacrificing  myself,  but 
because  your  son  had  brains  and  beauty  she  snapped  him 
up  and  left  me  cold." 

Mrs.  Kip  had  a  vague  feeling  that  he  was  whimsical  and 
that  an  answer  in  kind  was  expected,  but  the  dear  soul 

no 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

could  no  more  have  been  whimsical  than  a  hen  could 
be  chivalrous. 

"Will  you  have  a  bite  of  lunch  with  me?" 

"We  were  just  going  to  have  something  somewhere," 
said  Mrs.  Kip. 

"My  husband  would  object,"  said  Leila. 

"I'm  not  inviting  you,"  said  Duane,  "I'm  inviting  the 
genuine  Mrs.  Kip.  You  may  come  along  as  old  married 
chaperon,  if  you  have  to." 

"But  Miss  Kip  is  engaged." 

"So  I  suspected.  That's  why  I'm  inviting  her.  I  feel 
safe — that  is,  provided  her  mother  is  not  a  widow." 

He  was  ashamed  of  this  rather  crude  impromptu  after 
he  had  uttered  it,  but  it  did  poor  Mrs.  Kip  a  world  of  good. 
So  many  years  had  drifted  by  since  her  heart  had  been 
regarded  as  anything  but  a  harmless,  burnt-out  shell  that 
even  a  fantastic  impertinence  like  Duane's  was  strangely 
pleasant,  a  sudden  reminder  of  old  springtimes  when  she, 
too,  was  perilous  to  young  men  and  an  anxiety  to  her 
parents.  She  giggled,  and  a  pitiful  little  blush  rippled 
through  her  wrinkles.  Duane  caught  the  look  and  the 
choked  laughter  and  was  not  sure  whether  he  had  been  a 
benefactor  or  a  brute. 

He  tried  to  make  up  fof  it  by  an  extreme  attentiveness 
and  gallantry.  He  urged  her  to  honor  him  and  Del- 
monico's  with  her  company.  He  said  that  if  she  wanted 
to  shake  the  two  younger  sisters,  he  and  Mrs.  Kip  would 
elope  together. 

Mrs.  Kip  could  not  trust  herself  to  bandy  flirtatious 
remarks  with  Tom  Duane.  She  smiled  as  well  as  she 
could  and  suffered  him  to  lead  them  to  Delmonico's, 
which  was  not  far  from  where  they  were.  Duane  walked 
with  Mrs.  Kip  and  let  Daphne  and  Leila  follow  after. 
Leila  revenged  herself  by  telling  Daphne  all  the  gossip 
she  knew  about  him.  He  was  popular  at  his  clubs,  old 
ladies  and  children  adored  him,  debutantes  fell  in  love 
with  Viim  in  vain  and  later  treated  him  as  an  elder  brother. 

in 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  knew  everybody  of  every  sort  from  taxicab-drivers  to 
visiting  princes.  He  was  irresistibly  affectionate  with  all 
the  world,  but  apparently  immune  to  love. 

He  was  the  sort  of  man  whose  heart  Daphne  or  any 
girl  would  have  enjoyed  breaking.  Daphne  put  away 
the  temptation,  reminding  herself  that  she  was  not  free 
for  such  target-practice. 

As  they  turned  east  into  Forty-fourth  Street  and  en- 
tered Delmonico's  the  carriage  man  saluted  Duane,  pedes- 
trian as  he  was,  called  him  by  name,  and -seemed  to  be 
happier  for  seeing  him.  The  doorman  smiled  and  bowed 
him  in  by  name,  and  Duane  thanked  him  by  name. 
The  hat-boys  greeted  him  by  name  and  did  not  give  him  a 
check.  The  head  waiter  beamed  as  if  a  long-awaited  guest 
of  honor  had  come,  and  the  captains  bowed  and  bowed. 

"You'd  think  his  middle  name  was  Delmonico," 
Daphne  whispered  to  Leila  as  they  followed  to  a  table 
whence  a  card  "Reserved"  was  removed  with  marked 
contempt. 

Duane  did  not  ask  his  guests  what  they  would  have. 
The  head  waiter  told  him  in  a  low  voice  what  he  ought 
to  have. 

Cocktails  were  set  about.  A  little  baby-carriage  loaded 
with  hors  d'&uvre  was  rolled  up,  and  some  of  the  wildest 
combinations  that  ever  bewildered  a  palate  were  ladeled 
out  with  little  wooden  spoons  and  forks.  Daphne  and 
Leila  demanded  many  anchovies  and  ate  them  with  such 
relish  that  Mrs.  Kip,  who  did  not  include  anchovies  in  her 
acquaintance,  took  one  of  the  little  spirals.  She  thought 
for  a  moment  that  her  mouth  was  turning  inside  out. 
But  the  rest  of  the  procession  was  a  carnival  to  her. 

After  some  hesitation  she  had  the  good  sense  to  tell 
Duane  how  delicious  everything  was,  and  he  told  her 
that  she  showed  discrimination,  for  it  was  all  mighty 
good.  He  told  the  head  waiter  to  tell  the  chef  that  Mrs. 
Kip  said  so.  The  head  waiter  rushed  off  in  great  excite- 
ment, and  Mrs.  Kip  nearly  smothered  with  awe. 

112 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  rejoiced  in  it,  too.  All  luxury  was  music  to 
her.  Fine  clothes,  fine  foods  on  fine  dishes,  fine  horses, 
motors,  furnitures,  fine  everything,  gave  her  an  exaltation 
of  soul  like  the  thrill  of  a  religion. 

New  York  was  heaven  on  earth.  The  streets  were  gold, 
the  buildings  of  jasper,  and  the  people  angels — good 
angels  or  bad,  as  the  case  might  be,  but  still  angels.  She 
wanted  to  be  an  angel. 

Among  the  squads  of  men  and  women  camped  about 
the  little  tables  she  made  out  Sheila  Kemble  again,  in  a 
knot  of  elderly  women  of  manifest  importance.  They 
knew  it  themselves  and  were  trying  violently  to  forget  it. 

"Isn't  that  Sheila  Kemble?"  Daphne  asked. 

Duane  twisted  about  and  stared  with  frank  awkward- 
ness. He  did  so  many  of  the  things  forbidden  in  the 
correspondence  schools  of  etiquette  that  Mrs.  Kip's 
standards  were  all  askew. 

"Yes,  that's  Sheila,"  said  Duane,  and  he  waved  to  her 
and  she  to  him.  He  turned  back  to  Daphne.  "Awfully 
nice  girl.  Like  to  meet  her?" 

"I'm  crazy  to." 

"I'd  bring  you  together  now,  but  she's  completely  sur- 
rounded by  grandes  dames." 

He  named  the  women,  and  Mrs.  Kip  gaped  at  them  as 
if  they  were  a  group  of  Valkyrs  in  Valhalla.  It  startled 
her  to  see  them  paying  such  court  to  an  actress.  She 
said  so. 

"All  great  successes  love  one  another,"  Duane  explained. 
"Those  old  ladies  were  geniuses  at  getting  born  in  the 
best  families,  and  Sheila  has  earned  her  place.  She  looks 
a  bit  like  your  daughter,  don't  you  think?" 

Mrs.  Kip  tilted  her  head  and  studied  Miss  Kemble  and 
nodded.  She  made  the  important  amendment.  "She 
looks  like  she  used  to  look  like  Daphne." 

"That's  better,"  said  Tom  Duane.  "Miss  Kip  might 
be  her  understudy." 

"3 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"How  much  does  an  understudy  get?"  said  Daphne, 
abruptly. 

"I  haven't  the  faintest  idea!"  Duane  exclaimed.  "Not 
much,  I  imagine,  except  an  opportunity." 

"Is  it  true  that  Miss  Kemble  makes  so  much?" 

"I'd  like  to  trade  incomes  with  her,  that's  all.  Her 
manager,  Reben,  was  telling  me  that  she  would  clear  fifty 
thousand  dollars  this  year." 

Mrs.  Kip  was  aghast.  Daphne  was  electrified.  She 
was  thinking:  "We  look  so  much  alike  and  our  lots  are 
so  much  unlike.  She  works  and  I  loaf.  She  buys  her 
own  things — and  all  she  wants  of  them.  I  have  to  rob 
my  poor  old  dad  to  get  half  of  what  I  need.  If  I  had  her 
money,  or  only  a  part  of  it,  I  could  pay  dad  back  and 
help  him  out,  and  I  could  rent  an  apartment  as  fine  as 
Bayard's  for  poor  Clay  and  me.  I  could  take  burdens 
off  people's  backs,  and  put  fine  clothes  on  my  own.  And 
I'd  be  earning  it.  That's  better  than  inheriting  it." 

She  had  the  wholesome  American  idea  that  each  genera- 
tion should  build  up  its  own  fortunes  and  that  fresh 
money  earned  is  better  than  old  money  plucked  from  old 
family  bushes. 

She  surprised  Duane  with  another  question:  "You 
said  Miss  Kemble  was  married?" 

"Yes,  and  has  children,  and  loves  her  husband.  But 
she  couldn't  stand  idleness.  She's  just  come  back  to  the 
stage  after  several  years  of  rusting  in  a  small  city." 

Daphne  fired  one  more  question  point-blank:  "  Do  you 
think  I  could  succeed  on  the  stage?" 

Before  Duane  could  answer,  Mrs.  Kip  broke  in  with  a 
rebuke:  "Daphne,  what  on  earth  you  asking  such  ques- 
tions for?  As  if  you  were  thinking  of  going  on  the 
stage!" 

"I'm  thinking  of  lots  of  things,"  said  Daphne. 

"But  you've  got  Clay,  haven't  you?" 

"I'm  thinking  of  him,  too,"  she  said,  and  turned  again 
to  Duane.  "  Do  you  think  I  could  succeed  on  the  stage?" 

114 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Why  not?"  he  answered.  "You  have — with  your 
mother's  permission — great  beauty  and  magnetism,  a  de- 
lightful voice,  and  intelligence.  Why  shouldn't  you  suc- 
ceed? You  would  probably  have  a  peck  of  trouble  get- 
ting started,  but —  Do  you  know  any  managers?" 

"I  never  met  one." 

"Well,  if  you  ever  decide  that  you  want  to  try  it,  let 
me  know,  and  I  can  probably  force  somebody  to  give  you 
a  job." 

"I'll  remember  that,"  said  Daphne,  darkly. 

She  said  nothing  more  while  the  luncheon  ran  its  course. 

The  women  got  rid  of  Tom  Duane  gracefully — Leila 
asked  him  to  put  them  in  a  taxicab,  as  they  had  still  much 
shopping  to  do.  They  rode  to  a  department  store,  and 
Leila  started  another  account.  She  bought  several  things 
as  gifts  for  the  distraught  girl  who  was  her  sister-in-law. 
Then  they  went  to  a  Tyson  office  to  get  tickets  for  the 
theater.  None  were  to  be  had  for  the  Kemble  perform- 
ance at  any  price. 

They  were  so  tired  by  now  that  they  were  glad  of  it. 
They  rode  back  to  the  apartment.  There  they  found  a 
day  letter  from  Daphne's  father  to  her  mother. 

As  you  see  by  papers  big  Cowper  firm  failed  today  for  ten 
million  dollars  this  hits  us  hard  you  better  come  home  not  buy 
anything  more  situation  serious  but  hope  for  best  don't  worry 
Well  love. 

WESLEY. 

Mrs.  Kip  dropped  into  a  chair.  The  shock  was  so  great 
that  it  shook  first  from  her  a  groan  of  sympathy  for  her 
husband. 

"Your  poor  father!  And  he's  worked  so  hard  and 
been  so  careful." 

Bayard  came  home  late  for  dinner  and  in  a  state  of 
grave  excitement.  The  great  Cowper  wholesale  establish- 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

ment  had  fallen  like  a  steeple,  crushing  many  a  house. 
The  collapse  had  shaken  dull  old  Wall  Street  to  the 
foundations  and  shattered  the  pathetic  dreams  of  ap- 
proaching prosperity.  Indirectly  it  had  rattled  the  win- 
dows of  Bayard's  firm;  had  stopped  the  banks  from 
granting  an  important  loan.  Bayard  spent  a  bad  day 
down-town.  He  turned  homeward  at  last,  thanking  God 
that  he  had  a  home  and  an  inexhaustible  wealth  in 
his  wife's  love.  The  news  of  his  father's  distress  was  a 
heavy  blow.  But  he  tried  to  dispense  encouragement  to 
the  three  women  who  could  not  quite  realize  what  all 
the  excitement  was  about,  or  why  the  disaster  of  a  big 
chain  of  wholesale  stores  should  be  of  any  particular  im- 
portance to  them. 

Bayard  was  just  saying:  "I  tell  you,  Leila  honey,  I 
was  the  wise  boy  when  I  grabbed  you,  for  now  I've  got 
you,  and  I  need  you.  We're  going  to  win  out,  all  right, 
but  it  takes  so  much  cash  and  cash  costs.  Thank  the 
Lord  I'm  not  loaded  up  with  debt.  I've  kept  clear  of 
that." 

Leila  said  nothing,  [but  thought  hard.  Bayard  was 
silent.  Later  the  door-bell  rang  and  a  young  sewing-girl 
brought  two  big  boxes  from  Dutilh's.  They  were  so  big 
that  there  was  no  concealing  them.  Leila  made  a  timid 
effort  to  escape  with  hers,  but  Bayard  was  full  of  a  cheerful 
curiosity : 

"What's  all  that,  honey?" 

"Oh,  it's  just  a — a  little  thing  I  picked  up  to-day  at 
Dutilh's." 

"Dutilh's,  eh?  If  I'd  known  you  had  cash  enough  to 
call  on  him  I'd  have  borrowed  it  myself.  But  now  that 
it's  bought  let's  see  it.  Is  it  becoming?" 

"  Daphne  and  your  mother  thought  so." 

"  What  is  it,  a  scarf  or  something  ?  Give  a  fellow  a  look 
at  it." 

He  began  to  untie  the  knot.  Sealed  across  the  cord 
was  an  envelope,  with  a  statement.  Bayard  tore  it  free. 

116 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Leila  snatched  at  it.  Bayard  laughed  and  dodged  her. 
Leila  pursued.  It  was  a  ghastly  game  of  tag  for  her,  and 
Daphne  and  her  mother  looked  on  in  guilty  dread. 
Bayard,  whooping  with  laughter,  dashed  into  his  room 
and  closed  the  door,  held  it  fast  while  Leila  pounded  and 
pleaded  with  him. 

His  laughter  was  quenched  sharply.  There  was  a 
silence.  He  opened  the  door  and  walked  out,  a  sickly 
pallor  at  his  lips,  the  statement  in  his  hand : 

"This  can't  be  right,  honey.  'Bayard  Kip  to  Dutilh, 
Debtor.  Peach-blow  satin  gown — two  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-five dollars.'  The  price  is  ridiculous,  and  I  have  no 
account  there." 

"He — he  insisted  on  my  opening  one." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  open  any  accounts.  I  pay  my 
bills  in  thirty  days  or  discount  them  for  cash.  I  can't 
pay  this  in  thirty  days.  Every  penny  I  can  see  ahead  of 
me  is  laid  out." 

"I — I'm  sorry,"  Leila  faltered. 

There  was  a  throbbing  silence  of  suspense.  He  was 
deeply  gentle,  but  anxious. 

"Couldn't  you  have  waited  till  you  asked  me?  If  you 
had  to  have  it,  couldn't  you  have  given  me  a  chance  to 
arrange  for  it  ?  Couldn't  you  have  waited  till  I  got  home  ?" 

Leila  took  courage  from  his  meekness:  "I  suppose  I 
could  have.  But  I  supposed  you  could  afford  it.  Dutilh 
said  I  could  pay  whenever  I  liked." 

"Agh!"  Bayard  gnarred.  "That's  the  way  it  starts. 
Nobody  ever  paid  a  debt  when  he  liked.  You  make  the 
debt  when  you  like;  you  pay  when  you  don't  like.  But 
why  couldn't  you  have  waited — or  telephoned  me,  or — 
you  don't  know  how  this  frightens  me,  honey.  Two  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five  dollars  for  a  piece  of  silken  foolish- 
ness at  a  time  like  this!  It  would  keep  a  family  for  a 
year." 

"It  will  last  me  a  year,"  she  giggled,  timidly. 

He  did  not  smile. 

117 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  pleaded :  ' '  You  said  the  times  were  getting  better. ' ' 
' '  I  thought  they  were.  I  hoped  they  were.  But  they've 
gone  bad  again.  Besides,  I  was  trying  to  cheer  you  up, 
to  give  you  a  happy  honeymoon.  And  I  bought  you 
everything  you  saw  abroad.  And  it  wasn't  enough! 
My  God!  when  will  you  get  enough  clothes!" 

Leila  had  stared  incredulous  at  the  calamitous  result  of 
her  tender  impulse  to  beautify  herself  in  his  eyes.  Then 
tears  came  gushing  and  she  ran  to  her  room  and  locked  the 
door. 

Bayard  did  not  follow  her.  He  turned  for  comfort  to 
his  mother  and  Daphne.  He  noted  the  other  box. 
Daphne  had  not  dared  to  open  it. 

Bayard  ripped  the  envelope  from  its  cord  and  read: 

"Bayard  Kip  to  Dutilh,  Dr.  Parchment  -  toned 
gown,  for  Miss  Daphne  Kip,  two  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  dollars." 

He  was  parchment-toned  himself  as  he  shook  the 
statement  at  Daphne,  and  whispered,  huskily,  "What's 
this?" 

Daphne  could  not  muster  any  courage.  She  explained 
with  craven  remorse,  "I  saw  a  gown  that  I — I  needed 
there,  and  I — I —  He  offered  to  let  it  go  on  your  account 
till  I  could  get  the  money." 

Bayard  was  choked  with  wrath  and  a  terror  greater 
than  hers. 

"  I  go  to  my  office  and  work  like  a  fiend  all  day,  and  I 
come  home  to  find  that  my  wife  and  my  sister  have 
run  me  into  debt  for — for  five  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
And  the  firm,  the  big  firm  I  work  for,  had  to  extend  a 
note  for  seven  hundred  and  fifty  because  we  couldn't 
meet  it!" 

He  paced  the  floor,  wringing  his  hands  and  beating  his 
hot  forehead  with  the  heels  of  his  hands.  His  mother 
could  not  help  him.  She  saw  her  husband  again,  as  he 
was  when  he  was  younger.  Wesley  had  these  financial 

118 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

frenzies  then,  too.  In  the  course  of  years  his  protests 
had  worn  down  to  a  sickly  wail.  But  he  had  begun  with 
these  hurricanes.  And  yet  he  had  never  had  his  own 
way  with  his  own  money.  Would  Bayard  ever  have  his? 

He  rounded  on  Daphne:  "You  say  you  charged  this  to 
me  till  you  can  get  the  money?" 

She  nodded. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  get  it?" 

She  could  not  answer. 

"From  dad?" 

Before  she  could  nod  yes,  he  said,  "You  read  his  tele- 
gram, didn't  you?" 

She  was  silent. 

He  sneered,  "Or  are  you  going  to  get  it  from  Clay 
Wimburn?" 

She  did  not  answer  this. 

"Couldn't  you  wait  till  you  married  him  before  you 
bankrupted  him?"  He  flung  his  hands  high:  "Good 
God!  have  you  women  no  other  ambition  except  to  ruin 
the  men  that  love  you?" 

Daphne  blazed  with  ire  at  this,  but  what  could  she  say? 
Her  mother  tried  to  stem  the  tide  of  Bayard's  rage,  to 
turn  his  wrath  with  a  soft  answer: 

"I  guess  it's  all  my  fault,  honey.  The  dresses  looked 
so  pretty  on  the  girls  I  urged  them  to  take  them.  You 
ought  to  see  how  beautiful  they  are.  Go  put  the  dress 
on,  Daphne,  and  let  your  brother  see  how  sweet  you  look 
in  it." 

His  mother  only  added  herself  to  the  guilty.  Bayard 
flung  his  hands  up  again  and  laughed  like  a  maniac,  call- 
ing to  some  imaginary  sardonic  deity  to  share  his  ribald 
laughter: 

"Sweet!  She  looks  sweet  in  it!  It's  beautiful!  And 
that  justifies  anything.  Lord,  what  did  you  make  'em 
out  of,  these  women!" 

Mrs.  Kip  nudged  Daphne  and  whispered,  "Go  on,  put 
the  dress  on;  let  him  see  you  in  it." 

119 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  spoke  with  great  canniness,  but  Daphne  stared 
at  her  with  derision,  and  edged  away  and  spoke  in  a  tone 
as  biting  as  cold  blue  vitriol. 

"Put  it  on,  mother!  Do  you  think  I'd  ever  wear  the 
thing?  Ill  send  it  back  to-morrow  morning  at  daybreak. 
And  I'll  never  take  a  thing  that  any  man  pays  for  as  long 
as  I  live." 

Bayard  roared  at  her  over  his  shoulder:  "You  won't 
take  anything  that  any  man  pays  for,  eh?  What  are 
you  going  to  live  on — air?" 

She  answered  him,  grimly,  "There  are  several  million 
women  in  this  country  earning  their  own  living,  and  I'm 
going  to  be  one  of  them." 

His  comment  was  a  barking,  "Hah!" 

She  tied  the  broken  cord  about  the  parchment-toned 
dress,  and  her  heart  seemed  to  bleed  on  the  thongs.  She 
was  afraid  to  open  the  box  and  look  at  the  exquisitely 
glistening,  frothy  gown  inside,  so  frail  a  thing  to  have 
come  down  like  an  avalanche  on  this  household. 

She  lugged  the  box  away  to  her  room.  Bayard  flung 
himself  into  a  chair  and  listened  to  the  cauldron  of  his 
own  hateful  thoughts.  Gradually  they  ceased  to  bubble 
and  stew.  He  could  hear  now  the  muffled  beat  of  Leila's 
sorrow.  He  resisted  it  for  a  while,  sneered  at  it,  raged  at  it, 
and  then  at  the  cruelty  of  the  world. 

Then  the  beating  of  that  little  drum  of  sorrow  began  to 
call  to  him.  The  anger  faded  out  of  his  mien  and  a  look 
of  pity  took  its  place.  He  fought  against  surrender,  and 
for  diversion  opened  the  dress-box  and  peered  inside. 
The  contents  were  swaddled  in  tissue-paper,  and  it  made  a 
distressing  noise  as  he  unfolded  it.  It  disclosed  a  chaos 
of  soft  colors,  tender  and  pleading  as  a  visible  music.  He 
could  not  understand  its  design,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that 
it  would  be  very  beautiful  on  his  beautiful  Leila. 

His  mother,  watching  him,  saw  that  he  was  very  like 
his  father.  Neither  his  mother  nor  his  sister  liked  him  in 
this  mood. 

120 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Leila's  sobs  had  stopped  now  and  Bayard  listened  for 
them  anxiously.  Perhaps  she  had  died  of  grief.  A  lasso 
seemed  to  have  caught  him  about  the  shoulders;  it  was 
dragging  him  to  the  door. 

He  went  there  at  last,  and  listened.  He  heard  a  low 
whimpering,  unendurably  appealing.  He  tapped  on  the 
door  and  called  through  it. 

"Leila,  honey  love,  forgive  me.  I've  seen  the  little 
gown.  It's  beautiful.  You  shall  have  it — and  a  dozen 
like  it.  Please  forgive  me  and  love  me  again.  And  I'll 
buy  you  anything  you  want.  Please.  Please  don't  keep 
me  standing  outside  your  door.  Honey!  Leila  love!" 

Daphne  heard  him  and  her  bitterness  was  beyond  words. 
She -came  out  in  the  hall  and  could  not  forbear  to  taunt 
him  as  the  Philistines  taunted  the  captured  Samson.  She 
mocked  him  in  his  own  words  and  his  high-flung  gestures. 

"Lord,  what  did  you  make  'em  out  of,  these  men?" 

He  was  too  much  abased  to  denounce  her,  and,  the  door 
opening,  he  slipped  through  to  take  refuge  with  his  Leila. 

A  moment  later  the  door-bell  rang.  Daphne  checked 
the  maid  whose  ears  had  been  fascinatingly  entertained, 
and  told  her  that  if  the  caller  were  Mr.  Wimburn  he  was 
to  wait  outside  in  the  hall.  It  was  Mr.  Wimburn  and 
Daphne  went  out  to  him.  He  greeted  her  with  the  zest 
of  a  young  lover.  Daphne  gave  him  a  cold  cheek  to  kiss, 
and  then,  pulling  her  engagement-ring  from  her  finger, 
placed  it  in  his  hand. 

"Wha — what's  this,  Daphne?"  he  stuttered. 

"  It's  your  ring.  I'm  giving  it  back.  The  engagement 
is  off — indefinitely." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  why?    What  have  I  done?" 

"Nothing.  Neither  have  I.  But  I'm  going  to  do 
something." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Daphne?" 

"I  don't  know — but  something." 

"Don't  you  love  me  any  more?" 

121 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Just  as  much  as  ever — more  than  ever.  And  I'll 
prove  it,  too." 

"Prove  it  by  putting  the  ring  back  on." 

"No!     I'll  never  wear  it  again,  never!" 

"Great  Caesar's  ghost!    Won't  you  please  explain?" 

"Not  to-night.  I'm  too  wild.  You'd  better  go  home. 
I'm  dangerous." 

"And  you  won't  wear  the  ring?" 

"Never!  Send  it  back  and  save  your  money.  That's 
what  I'm  going  to  do  with  what  I've  bought.  Kiss  me 
good  night  and  go,  please." 

She  left  him  outside  and  closed  the  door  as  lovingly  as 
she  could. 

While  Clay  waited  for  the  elevator  to  come  up  and 
take  him  down  he  stared  at  the  ring  with  sheep's  eyes, 
tossed  it,  and  caught  it  awkwardly,  and  laughed  and 
almost  spoke  his  thought  aloud: 

"Funny  thing.  I  haven't  paid  for  it  yet.  Got  an  in- 
sulting letter  from  the  jeweler,  too,  this  very  afternoon." 

But  Daphne  was  thumbing  the  telephone-book  to  see 
if  she  could  find  Tom  Duane's  number. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

JILTED  and  jolted  have  no  kinship  in  origin,  but  they 
arrive  at  the  same  conclusion.  Clay  Wimburn  was 
both,  and  bewildered  as  well. 

He  did  not  realize  how  bewildered  he  was  until  he  was 
out  on  the  street  and  walking  toward  his  bachelor  lodg- 
ings. His  engagement-ring  had  been  returned  to  him, 
his  marriage  postponed  indefinitely  and  abruptly  after  the 
bride-not-to-be  had  begun  to  compile  her  trousseau,  and 
the  wedding  announcements  had  been  ordered  with  the 
date  neatly  and  ironically  engraved  in  steel. 

And  the  bride's  one  given  reason  for  this  jilt  was  that 
she  loved  her  victim  too  well  to  marry  him!  The  pave- 
ment under  his  feet  seemed  to  misbehave  like  the  comic 
sidewalks  at  Coney  Island. 

Clay  could  find  no  reason  for  Daphne's  cruelty  except 
the  fact  that  she  had  had  to  walk  several  miles  home  on 
high-heeled  shoes  because  he  happened  to  lack  cab  fare. 
But  this  theory  would  accuse  Daphne  of  being  mercenary. 
And  how  could  an  angel  be  avaricious? 

If  he  had  known  that  at  the  very  moment  she  was 
hunting  for  the  telephone  number  of  that  endowed 
bachelor,  Tom  Duane,  Clay  would  have  been  convinced 
that  Daphne  was  not  an  angel  at  all,  or  at  best  a  fallen  one. 
He  would  have  said  that  avarice  was  her  ruling  trait. 

He  could  neither  know  nor  suspect  these  things,  how- 
ever. He  was  sufficiently  bankrupt  of  hope,  as  it  was. 

Daphne  failed  to  run  Duane  to  earth  in  the  telephone- 
book.  She  was  at  a  loss  for  another  source  of  directions. 

123 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  was  new  to  New  York  and  did  not  know  how  to  set  out 
on  such  a  pursuit.  She  could  have  learned  from  Bayard 
or  Leila,  but  they  were  the  last  people  on  earth  she  wanted 
to  take  into  her  confidence. 

She  went  to  her  room,  and  found  her  mother  there,  dis- 
mally engaged  in  writing  a  letter  to  her  father,  breaking 
to  him  the  dreadful  news  that  the  trousseau  was  to  cost 
far  more  for  far  less.  She  was  asking  for  extra  money  at 
once.  Mrs.  Kip  did  not  like  the  job.  She  felt  as  wretched 
as  a  reformed  pirate  compelled  to  toast  the  soles  of  a  poor 
old,  howling  miser  in  order  to  compel  him  to  divulge  the 
hiding-place  of  his  gold. 

Daphne  saw  how  perfectly  her  mother  was  not  enjoy- 
ing her  task  and  asked  her: 

"What  are  you  up  to,  mamma?  Writing  your  last 
testament?" 

Mrs.  Kip  groaned  the  explanation. 

Daphne  smiled  bitterly  and  said:  "Rub  it  out  and  do  it 
over  again,  mamma.  There  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  trousseau. 
No  wedding-bells  for  me." 

Mrs.  Kip  rolled  large  eyes  in  Daphne's  direction  and 
looked  deaf.  Daphne  held  out  her  denuded  engagement- 
ring  finger  in  proof  that  she  and  Clay  were  detrothed. 

"Good  gracious!"  was  Mrs.  Kip's  profane  comment. 
"What  under  the  living  sun  did  you  find  out  about  him?" 

There  was  almost  an  eagerness  in  her  curiosity.  We 
all  love  to  see  our  heroes  reduced  to  common  terms. 

Daphne  smiled  rebukingly.  "Nothing,  except  that  he's 
the  dearest  boy  on  earth." 

"Then  why  on  earth  did  you — " 

"Because  I'm  too  expensive  for  him." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do — go  back  to  Cleveland 
and  tell  everybody  that  you're  not  going  to  get  married, 
after  all  this  trouble?" 

"No,  I'm  not  going  back  to  Cleveland,  and  I  am  going 
to  get  married — but  later,  much  later." 

"I  hate  conundrums,"  said  Mrs.  Kip.  "Better  tell 

124 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

me  the  answer,  for  I  won't  guess.     What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"I'm  going  to  lend  a  hand,"  said  Daphne.  "Do  my 
share.  Get  a  job  and  earn  my  board  and  keep." 

"Heaven  help  us!  You've  gone  crazy!"  Mrs.  Kip  ex- 
claimed. "You  come  right  home  with  me  and  let  your 
father  talk  to  you." 

"And  I'm  not  going  to  lean  on  daddy  any  more,  either." 
Daphne  spoke  with  fine  dramatic  energy,  but  Mrs.  Kip 
clucked  over  her  like  an  old  hen. 

"I  guess  this  trousseau  business  has  kind  of  affected 
your  mind.  You  get  to  bed  and  you'll  feel  better  in  the 
morning.  I'll  finish  my  letter." 

She  added,  unbeknownst  to  Daphne,  a  postscript  as 
long  as  the  letter,  contradicting  all  she  had  just  written 
and  urging  her  husband  to  come  East  at  once  and  take 
charge  of  his  unruly  daughter.  She  dropped  it  in  the 
mail-chute,  and  it  fell  into  a  bottomless  pit,  along  with 
her  other  hopes. 

Daphne  got  to  bed.  And  she  felt  better  in  the  morning, 
but  not  because  she  had  returned  to  her  former  mind. 
She  woke  early  and  watched  the  sun  roll  up  the  curtain  of 
the  big  shop.  She  gazed  down  at  the  gradual  change  of 
the  street  life  as  the  tide  of  the  populace  turned  from  the 
ebb  and  began  to  flood  back  to  the  day's  work.  She 
wanted  to  join  that  army.  She  wanted  to  have  work  to 
do.  She  wanted  to  have  dealings  with  life,  meet  money 
on  its  own  ground,  and  earn  what  she  spent. 

She  was  awake  too  soon.  Only  the  humbler  laborers 
were  at  large,  the  scouts  and  pioneers  of  the  vanguard — 
the  scrubwomen,  office-openers,  sawdust-sprinklers,  and 
sidewalk-sweepers.  She  grew  impatient  at  the  delay  of  the 
world  to  get  up  with  her.  The  milk  had  not  been  set 
on  the  dumb-waiter.  The  morning  paper  had  not  been 
brought  up  to  the  door,  the  night  elevator-boy  was  asleep 
on  a  marble  bench  in  the  hall.  The  mail-carriers  had  not 
begun  to  scatter  their  largesses  about  the  town. 

125 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

It  would  be  hours  before  important  New  York  was  set 
going.  It  was  only  being  wound  up  now. 

Daphne  was  ready.  It  was  the  opportunity  that  was 
unready.  The  early  bird  was  too  early  for  the  early  worm, 
and  shivered  on  the  lonely  branch.  Finding  herself  pre- 
mature, she  lost  her  enthusiasm  and  grew  drowsy  again. 

She  began  to  nod  lower  and  lower  and  at  length  her 
brow  reached  the  backs  of  her  idle  hands  clasped  on  the 
ledge.  Her  mother,  waking  two  hours  later,  missed  her 
from  her  place  in  the  bed  and,  sitting  up  bulkily,  made 
her  out  where  she  slept  at  the  window-sill,  her  slumber 
undisturbed  by  the  noise  of  the  town  braying  like  a 
brass  band  at  full  blast  below.  The  forenoon  breeze 
swirled  her  loose  hair  humorously  about  her  ambitious 
little  head  and  the  creamy  surface  of  her  nape  and  shoul- 
ders gave  no  hint  of  the  burdens  she  wanted  to  assume. 

Mrs.  Kip  rolled  out  and  wrapped  the  chilled  lithe 
figure  in  a  warm  robe  and  tried  to  drag  her  back  to  bed. 
But  Daphne  woke  and  remembered,  and  thought  with 
remorse  of  how  sleep  had  betrayed  her. 

She  renewed  her  vows  to  conquer  the  world,  and  caroled 
while  the  bath-tub  filled. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DAPHNE  and  her  mother  were  uneasy  at  the  prospect 
of  the  breakfast  encounter  with  the  bridal  couple. 
There  had  been  a  sense  of  strain  the  first  morning.  But 
now  a  bitter  quarrel  had  intervened — that  first  ugly  quar- 
rel when  the  wedge  of  finance  is  driven  between  united 
hearts. 

Bayard  and  Leila,  however,  arrived  at  the  table  all 
smiles,  more  amorous  than  ever.  Instead  of  showing  an 
impatient  thirst  for  the  morning  news  Bayard  left  the 
papers  folded.  He  conducted  Leila  to  her  chair  as  if  she 
were  a  fragile  invalid  and  fetched  her  a  cushion  and  fitted 
it  into  her  back  and  kissed  her  on  the  top  of  her  head. 
And  when  he  departed  for  the  long  voyage  to  the  other 
side  of  the  table  she  called  him  back  for  a  passionate 
embrace. 

She  was  his  newspaper  now,  and  he  scanned  the  head- 
lines of  her  brows  with  anxious,  almost  with  suppliant, 
interest. 

Leila  wore  a  triumphant  smile,  such  as  Delilah  must 
have  worn  the  second  time  she  went  out  walking  with 
her  big  beau. 

It  was  plain  to  the  anxious  eyes  of  Mrs.  Kip  and  Eiaphne 
that  Leila  had  emerged  from  the  quarrel  with  all  the  loot 
and  aggravated  power. 

She  had  taken  advantage  of  her  husband's  trust  and 
abused  his  generosity  recklessly,  with  no  more  evil  motive, 
indeed,  than  the  wish  to  beautify  herself  in  his  honor, 
and  yet  with  recklessness. 

He  had  made  an  uproar,  then  subsided  into  a  beggar 

127 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

for  her  forgiveness.  She  had  graciously  pardoned  him  and 
consented  to  renew  his  privilege  of  tribute.  The  idol  had 
accepted  the  worshiper  back  again,  granted  her  altar  to 
his  sacrifices  of  contrition,  and  admitted  to  her  nostrils 
the  savory  smoke  of  his  burnt  money. 

It  was  not  altogether  Leila's  fault  if  the  lesson  she 
learned,  perhaps  unconsciously,  from  the  combat  was 
something  like  this: 

"I  ran  my  husband  into  debt  without  consulting  him. 
His  listless  love  woke  from  its  torpor  and  enchanted  me 
with  a  first-class  demonstration  of  its  energy.  He 
stormed.  I  wept  thrillingly.  He  apologized,  begged  to 
be  permitted  to  bring  me  some  more  nice  things.  Ergo, 
when  home  life  grows  dull,  I  can  always  stir  up  the  fire  by 
buying  something  we  can't  afford.  When  I  want  any- 
thing I  must  get  it.  I  shall  be  scolded,  then  kissed  and 
treated  with  awe.  If  I  hadn't  bought  it  I  wouldn't  have 
had  it,  nor  the  bonus  that  goes  with  it.  If  we  had  not 
quarreled  we  should  have  missed  the  rapture  of  'making 
up/" 

This  is  one  of  the  first  lessons  that  certain  sorts  of  hus- 
bands teach  to  certain  sorts  of  wives. 

After  the  breakfast  was  set  going  with  the  usual  ritual 
of ' '  How  many  lumps  in  your  coffee  ?  Cream  ?' '  and  the  like, 
Leila  beamed  on  Daphne. 

"  It's  all  fixed  up,  dear.  Bayard  has  eaten  crow  for  his 
little  outburst  last  night  and  he  thinks  my  Dutilh  gown 
is  stunning,  so  I'm  going  to  keep  it.  And  you  are  to  keep 
yours." 

"No,  thanks,"  said  Daphne.     "It  goes  back  to-day." 

Bayard  interposed.  "You're  going  to  keep  it,  honey, 
and  you  owe  it  to  Leila." 

Daphne  winced  at  this  last  and  at  the  conquered  depre- 
cation of  Bayard's  manner.  He  groveled  deeper  still. 
"I  was  a  brute  last  night  and  I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  I 
want  you  all  to  come  down  to  luncheon  with  me  to-day 

128 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

and  we'll  have  a  love-feast  and  I'll  buy  you  each  a  little 
present  as  a  peace  offering." 

"Sorry,  but  I'll  be  busy,"  said  Daphne.  "I've  got  to 
get  a  job  and  a  place  to  live." 

"A  jo-ob!"  Bayard  gasped. 

"A  place  to  live?"  Leila  gasped,  then  added,  with  a 
noble  effort  at  hospitality,  "You  are  to  live  here,  of 
course." 

But  Daphne  shook  her  head.  "I  couldn't  ruin  your 
honeymoon  any  farther  and  I  couldn't  afford  to  live  in 
such  a  costly  apartment.  I'm  going  to  find  something 
simple  and  cheap." 

"Is  mother  going  to  live  with  you?"  said  Bayard. 

"Of  course  not;  she's  going  back  to  Cleveland.  She's 
pining  away  for  papa." 

Mrs.  Kip's  objurgation  "The  idea!"  was  drowned  in 
Bayard's  demur,  "But  you  can't  go  about  alone  here — 
not  in  New  York!" 

"Why  not?     Millions  do." 

"Oh,  shopping  and  to  the  matinee,  yes.  But  you 
can't  live  alone.  Who's  going  to  chaperon  you?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  have  any  chaperon,"  Daphne  avowed. 
"I'm  going  in  business.  A  business  woman  can't  start 
out  with  a  guardian.  I  don't  see  you  taking  Leila  with 
you  on  all  your  business  calls  for  fear  some  woman  might 
steal  you!" 

"What  sort  of  business  you  going  in  for?"  Bayard  de- 
manded, ignoring  her  satire. 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  said  Daphne.  "I've  got  to  look 
around.  I  wish  I'd  been  taught  a  trade.  I  think  every 
girl  ought  to  be  taught  a  trade." 

"It's  not  necessary  to  teach  her  her  trade  of  upsetting 
men  and  business,"  said  Bayard. 

He  heaped  up  difficulties  and  objections.  Daphne  met 
them  all  with  airy  confidence.  At  length  Bayard  sur- 
rendered. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you've  got  to  have  your  fling,  and  no- 
5  129 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

body  can  stop  you.  But  you'll  find  it  mighty  hard  to 
get  anything  to  do  in  this  town.  There  are  three  hundred 
thousand  people  out  of  a  job  now — regular  workers, 
trained  workers.  What  chance  have  you?" 

The  number  was  so  large  that  Daphne  could  not  feel  it. 
She  answered,  glibly: 

"There's  always  room  for  one  more — especially  at  the 
top.  Dad  will  have  to  support  me  while  I  find  my  place, 
but  there  must  be  a  place  for  me  somewhere.  There 
must  be !  And  I'm  going  to  find  it !" 

She  saw  that  Bayard  was  winking  to  Leila.  She  flushed 
at  the  affectionate  contempt  implied.  But  she  took  new 
courage  from  discouragement,  as  youth  and  inexperience 
are  apt  to  do. 

And  now  Daphne's  mother  had  learned  the  answer  to 
the  last  night's  riddle.  With  all  the  indignation  possible 
to  any  old-fashioned  woman  she  opposed  the  step.  She 
turned  to  her  son  to  save  her  from  her  daughter. 

"Bayard,  I  wish  you'd  make  her  give  up  this  insane 
idea.  You  know  how  dangerous  it  is." 

"I  know,  mother,  but  it's  no  use.  Daphne  always 
would  have  her  own  way.  Remember  how  she  insisted 
on  putting  her  finger  on  the  red-hot  stove  as  a  little  kid, 
in  spite  of  all  you  could  say  or  do  to  keep  her  from  it? 
Well,  she'll  not  be  happy  till  she  burns  her  fingers  again." 

"I  may  burn  my  ringers,  but  I  won't  let  go,"  said 
Daphne,  and  she  thought  of  how  she  would  remind  him 
of  his  words  of  discouragement  on  the  not-far-distant  day 
when  she  should  be  a  great  actress,  earning  her  fifty 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  For  she  had  decided  that  she 
would  be  a  great  actress  and  earn  at  least  that. 

Bayard  felt  so  confident  of  her  failure  that  he  could 
afford  to  be  merciful.  "  If  I  can  help  you  in  any  way,  let 
me  know,"  he  said.  "It's  pretty  nasty  for  a  young  girl 
wandering  round  this  old  town.  You'll  bump  into  some 
tough  characters,  and  you'll  be  glad  to  have  a  home  to 
go  back  to.  That's  where  a  woman  belongs.  But  I  don't 

130 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

care  what  you  tackle  so  long  as  you're  not  fool  enough  to 
try  to  go  on  the  stage.  I  won't  stand  for  that!" 

Daphne  said  nothing,  and  said  it  with  a  kind  of  noisy 
silence.  Bayard  suspected  nothing.  Leila  and  Mrs.  Kip, 
however,  both  saw  at  once  from  Daphne's  expression  that 
the  stage  was  the  one  thing  she  had  in  mind.  Neither  of 
them  spoke,  lest  Bayard  be  moved  to  an  outbreak. 

He  smiled  tolerantly  at  Daphne  and  gave  her  a  tolerant 
kiss  on  her  flushed  cheek.  He  kissed  his  mother  and 
patted  her  on  the  back  and  smiled  to  reassure  her.  He 
kissed  Leila  many  times  and  madly. 

When  the  man  of  the  house  had  achieved  this  separation 
and  departed  for  his  office,  and  the  waiter  had  carried  off 
the  breakfast  relics,  the  three  women  were  left  alone  in 
a  completely  feminine  conclave.  They  faced  life  like 
three  Norns:  the  old  mother,  the  new  wife,  and  the  de- 
ferred wife,  each  from  her  coign  of  disadvantage. 

The  two  married  women  turned  on  the  maid,  with 
common  resentment  at  her  criticism  of  their  establish- 
ments. They  were  married  and  dependent  and  she  had 
her  independence.  They  were  Tories  and  she  a  Whig. 
It  was  their  privilege  to  rail  at  things  as  they  were,  but  it 
was  their  religion  to  frown  on  changing  them.  Mrs.  Kip 
senior  spoke  for  Mrs.  Kip  junior. 

"Now,  Daphne,  tell  us  what  is  this  new  foolishness  all 
about?" 

Daphne  answered,  stoutly:  "It's  not  foolishness.  It's 
the  first  glimmer  of  sense  I've  ever  had.  I'm  sick  of  the 
idea  of  always  living  on  the  money  of  some  man,  taking 
his  charity  or  his  extravagance.  I've  always  been  a  drag 
on  poor  daddy,  and  I  was  getting  ready  to  shift  my  weight 
over  to  poor  Clay's  back.  But  I  don't  think  a  woman 
ought  to  be  dependent  on  a  man.  I  think  she  ought  to 
bear  her  share  of  the  burden." 

"As  if  she  didn't!"  Mrs.  Kip  broke  out.  "As  if  the 
home  weren't  just  as  much  labor  as  the  office," 

131 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"But  it  isn't,  mamma,  and  you  know  it.  It  may  have 
been  once,  but  nowadays  there's  nothing  left  for  the  wife 
to  do.  Her  servants  or  the  machines  do  everything  for 
her.  And  her  husband  pays  for  the  servants  and  the 
machines.  I  don't  think  it's  fair.  I  think  the  wife  ought 
to  work  just  as  much  as  the  husband  does.  The  work 
would  keep  her  out  of  mischief  and  keep  her  happier,  and 
the  money  would  give  the  husband  help  and  leisure." 

Daphne's  proposal  was  about  as  popular  as  a  motion  to 
unwater  the  stock  would  be  at  a  directors'  meeting.  It 
had  a  sacrilegious  note  like  a  proposal  at  a  vestry  meeting 
that  a  church  should  pay  taxes  on  its  property.  Mrs.  Kip 
shook  her  head  in  terror  of  this  changeling  of  hers. 

Leila  attacked  her  from  another  direction.  "For  good- 
ness' sake,  Daphne,  don't  lose  your  head.  Don't  you  im- 
agine for  a  moment  that  a  husband  will  be  happier  and 
love  his  wife  better  because  she  earns  wages.  The  harder 
you  work  for  men,  the  better  they  like  somebody  else. 
The  harder  a  man  works  for  you  the  better  he  likes  you. 
Best  of  all,  he  loves  the  woman  that  tries  to  break  him." 

Daphne's  answer  was  a  snappy:  "I  don't  believe  it! 
I'd  despise  a  man  that  felt  that  way." 

Leila  had  the  wisdom  of  the  harem,  the  sultana  craft 
that  enslaves  the  master  by  submission,  holds  him 
prisoner  while  embracing  his  knees  and  praying  for  mercy. 
Mrs.  Kip  had  the  wisdom  of  the  American  household,  the 
despotism  of  the  good  woman  who  shackles  her  husband 
with  indignant  virtues,  and  whacks  his  head  with  a 
precept  whenever  he  lifts  it  up  in  pride. 

Daphne  had  the  wisdom  of  the  newest  school  that  asks 
for  comradeship,  and  a  complementary  equality,  and, 
demanding  freedom,  offers  it  as  a  fair  exchange. 

All  three  schools  have  their  successes  and  their  disasters. 
Daphne  had  seen  the  defects  of  the  older  two  only. 

The  three  women  wrangled  with  wise  saws  and  modern 
instances,  and  they  were  in  a  perilous  state  of  dissension 

132 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

when  the  telephone  rang.  Leila  answered  it  and  her 
outcries  of  indignation  alarmed  Mrs.  Kip  and  Daphne 
till  they  learned  the  cause. 

Bayard  had  called  up  to  say  that  the  luncheon  party 
must  be  postponed.  Outrageous  business  had  made 
another  insidious  attack  on  love. 

Leila  came  from  the  telephone  in  a  state  of  desperation 
mitigated  by  the  fact  that  Bayard  had  asked  her  to  take 
his  mother  and  Daphne  shopping  and  buy  them  and  her- 
self something  worth  while  as  an  atonement  for  his  aban- 
donment. 

Mrs.  Kip  and  Daphne  protested  that  they  wanted 
nothing,  but  Leila  insisted  that  it  was  only  fair  that 
Bayard  should  pay  for  his  neglect.  It  was  only  fair  that 
he  should  buy  his  mother  something  handsome. 

There  was  such  a  lilt  of  joy  in  her  generosity  that  it 
seemed  cruel  to  check  it,  even  though  it  was  vicarious. 

So  they  set  forth  again  on  another  onset  against  the 
ramparts  of  beauty. 

They  wove  their  way  from  department  store  to  depart- 
ment store,  from  Sterns'  to  Lord  &  Taylor's,  from  McCree- 
ry's  to  Altaian's  and  Wanamaker's.  It  was  like  wander- 
ing from  garden  to  garden  of  roses — roses  that  could  be 
worn. 

Their  salvation  was  the  embarrassment  of  merchan- 
dise, .the  confusion  of  choice.  The  rescue  from  each 
tempting  thing  was  the  imagination  of  something  yet 
better  further  on.  Nevertheless,  to  the  silent  horror  of 
Daphne  and  her  mother,  Leila  was  persuaded  to  buy  a 
new  coat  and  a  new  hat  and  to  pay  for  them  by  the  con- 
venience of  opening  two  new  accounts  at  the  suggestion 
of  two  soapy  salesmen.  Bayard's  surrender  after  his 
first  battle  had  already  accomplished  the  expectable 
result. 

Irresistible  wares  in  the  windows  dragged  them  inside 
to  ask  for  details,  and  once  inside  they  were  surrounded 
with  new  allurements.  They  scattered  here  and  there 


THE  THIRTEENTH  [COMMANDMENT 

and  beckoned  to  one  another  like  children  out  black- 
berrying. 

Everything  was  the  very  latest  thing  and  yet  was 
marked  down.  But  Daphne  priced  things  now  with  a  new 
soul.  She  was  thinking  in  the  terms  of  wages  and  toil. 

She  was  going  to  earn  fifty  thousand  a  year  some  day, 
but  she  supposed  that  at  first  she  would  earn  very  little — 
twenty-five  dollars  a  week,  perhaps. 

When  then  she  saw  an  "extremely  smart"  summer  dress 
of  sheer  voile  and  cotton  ratine  at  a  "special  summer 
price"  of  twenty-five  dollars,  she  no  longer  thought  of  it 
as  a  nominal  sum  to  be  wheedled  from  her  father.  She 
thought  of  it  as  a  whole  week's  work  in  the  theater,  six 
night  performances  and  two  matinees.  A  captivating 
"ripple  coat"  in  gabardine  or  serge  no  longer  meant 
"only  fifty  dollars" — it  meant  a  fortnight's  entire  re- 
ceipts. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  existence  she  vividly  understood 
how  all  these  fairy  tissues  were  the  products  of  human 
labor,  paid  for  with  wages  and  to  be  sold  for  other  wages. 
Pearls  were  drops  of  sweat;  perfumes  were  the  sighs  of 
weary  men;  soft  fabrics  were  the  hard  spinning  of  human 
silkworms. 

Bayard  was  even  now  racking  his  brain  to  accumulate 
what  three  women  were  squandering. 

Suddenly  the  throngs  in  the  aisles  took  on  a  strange 
aspect.  These  were  not  nice  women  innocently  shopping; 
they  were  devastating"  caterpillars  and  wasps,  gorgeous, 
but  repulsive,  destroying  the  leaves  and  petals  and  fruits 
that  gardeners  had  brought  to  perfection  by  grubbing  in 
the  hard  soil  and  by  incessant  cultivation. 

There  were  hardly  any  men  among  the  multitude, 
and  they  looked  captive  and  reluctant.  The  men  were 
elsewhere  at  work.  And  millions  of  women  were  at 
work  in  offices  and  factories  and  tenements  preparing  the 
crops  for  these  locusts  to  destroy. 

She  had  heard  the  phrase  "unproductive  consump- 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

tion."  It  was  a  favorite  protest  of  her  father  in  his  quar- 
rels against  her  mother's  expenditures.  She  had  never 
understood  it  till  now. 

Fortunes  were  being  lavished  here  by  these  women  on 
things  that  were  perishable  and  unproductive  to  the  last 
extent. 

According  to  the  canonical  explanation  Eve  had  torn  a 
branch  of  fig-leaves  from  a  tree  and  wreathed  it  about  her 
productive  loins.  Adam  and  she  had  learned  to  make 
coats  of  animal  pelts  when  they  went  out  into  the  rest  of 
the  world.  But  here  were  great  warehouses  packed  with 
coverings  that  neither  concealed  nor  warmed.  Daphne 
herself  was  as  guilty  as  the  rest. 

While  she  waited  for  a  cynical  saleswoman  to  find  a 
color  to  suit  her  mother's  contradictory  desire  to  look 
rich  for  nothing,  Daphne  began  to  enumerate  her  own 
garments.  Counting  her  gloves,  her  hat,  and  her  shoes, 
her  hand-bag  and  veil,  she  wore  fifteen  separate  habili- 
ments and  she  must  take  these  off  and  put  them  on  and 
shift  from  one  set  to  another  once  or  twice  or  oftener  every 
day.  That  seemed  to  be  her  chief  industry. 

And  besides  these  things  there  was  the  appalling  matter 
of  her  coiffure,  numberless  toilsome  ways  of  arranging 
her  hair;  pins  for  it,  and  combs,  and  ribbons,  and  tiaras. 
And  for  her  throat  there  were  necklaces,  and  bracelets 
for  her  wrists,  and  rings  for  her  fingers,  and  brooches, 
chains,  and  ribbons,  sashes  and  vanity-boxes,  and  what 
not?  There  were  boas  and  plumes,  and  there  was  the 
elaborate  machinery  of  the  dressing-table. 

What  other  business  on  earth  had  women  besides 
dressing  and  undressing  and  buying  dressings  ?  They  ate 
in  order  to  have  strength  for  these  tasks,  and  they  made 
love  in  order  to  find  husbands  who  would  capitalize  their 
trade.  They  no  longer  manufactured  anything — a  little 
fancy  stitching  and  mending  hardly  counted.  Buying 
and  wearing  clothes  was  their  career. 

The  churches  were  empty,   and  sparsely  filled  of  a 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Sunday;  the  free  art-galleries  were  deserted;  the  public 
library  was  neglected.  But  the  shops,  the  magnificent 
temples  of  extravagance,  were  crowded  with  fanatic 
worshipers  spilling  out  gold  and  far-fetched  fruits  of  toil 
on  altars  that  returned  only  smoke. 

So  Daphne  meditated  as  she  had  never  meditated  before 
and  might  not  often  meditate  again.  Glistening  weaves 
and  things  that  are  gentle  and  fragrant  and,  above  all, 
new,  will  forever  have  their  own  logic  and  their  own  com- 
pulsion and  she  would  not  long  escape  them. 

At  the  moment,  however,  Daphne  was  filled  with  con- 
tempt for  her  sex  in  its  most  characteristic  enthusiasm. 
She  wondered  why  the  nagged  and  besieged  shop-girls 
were  not  more  impatient  than  they  were.  She  felt  that 
theirs  was  the  less  ignoble  part  in  the  traffic.  They  at 
least  were  earning  something.  Daphne  renewed  her  vow 
to  be  an  earner. 

She  refused  to  buy  a  thing.  Her  mother  could  only 
explain  her  mood  as  a  symptom  of  an  illness  and  advise 
her  to  get  home  to  bed.  There  was  something  suspicious 
in  the  condition  of  a  girl  who  could  look  with  qualms  of 
conscience  or  appetite  on  such  a  banquet. 

At  length  fatigue  and  faintness  reminded  Mrs.  Kip, 
senior,  that  she  had  not  eaten  and  the  hour  was  late. 
She  called  for  her  luncheon  and  they  went  together  to  a 
tea-room.  Here  Daphne  had  another  attack  of  eccen- 
tricity; a  stubborn  determination  to  go  home  and  send 
back  to  Dutilh  the  wicked  gown  that  she  had  bought  of 
him  on  credit. 

She  had  left  the  house  without  returning  it  and  she  was 
afraid  that  there  would  be  difficulties  if  she  delayed. 
Fortunately  there  had  been  no  alterations  in  the  gown. 

Mrs.  Kip  and  Leila  wrangled  with  her  in  vain.  She 
did  not  listen,  but  she  began  to  scrawl  figures  on  the 
wrapping-paper  of  a  parcel  with  a  bit  of  pencil.  At 
length  she  made  the  enigmatic  statement; 

136 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"That  silly  little  frock  cost  two  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  dollars.  At  twenty-five  dollars  a  week  that  means 
eleven  weeks — nearly  three  months! — of  hard  work  or 
eighty-eight  performances,  with  nothing  left  over  for  food 
or  lodging." 

"She's  gone  crazy,"  cried  Mrs.  Kip,  not  knowing  what 
she  was  thinking  of. 

Leila,  misunderstanding  almost  as  completely,  ob- 
jected: "But  Bayard  makes  far  more  than  twenty-five 
dollars  a  week  and  he  has  a  stack  of  stocks  and  bonds  just 
rotting  away  in  a  safe-deposit  vault." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  Bayard,"  said  Daphne,  but  would 
explain  no  further,  though  they  quizzed  at  her  all  the  way 
home. 

Her  mother  was  genuinely  alarmed  about  her.  She  saw 
all  the  symptoms'of  a  feyer  with  attendant  delirium.  She 
was  encouraged  by  the  signs  of  self-struggle  when  Daphne 
got  out  the  Dutilh  dress  for  a  farewell  view,  caressed  it, 
laid  it  across  her  body,  and  looked  down  along  herself, 
and  marched  in  front  of  the  full-length  mirror  in  a  closet 
door. 

Mrs.  Kip  unconsciously  paraphrased  Tennyson's  doleful 
lyric  when  she  thought,  "She  must  weep  or  she  will  die." 

And  at  length  the  wholesome  human  tears  came  from 
the  squeezed  eyelids.  Mrs.  Kip  laughed  with  relief  as 
she  sprang  forward,  proffering  a  handkerchief: 

"  Don't  cry  on  that  dress,  for  Heaven's  sake,  or  you  can 
neither  wear  it  nor  return  it." 

Daphne  held  the  gown  out  of  the  reach  of  distilled  salt 
water  and  sighed  with  hopeful  despair.  "I  wonder  if 
Dutilh  will  take  it  back?" 

Leila  winked  at  Mrs.  Kip  and  said:  "Not  unless  you 
buy  something  else  in  its  place.  Dressmakers  are  awfully 
suspicious.  So  many  women  order  a  gown  sent  home  and 
wear  it  to  some  affair  and  then  return  it.  Of  course  Dutilh, 
knowing  me,  would  doubtless  give  you  another  dress  to 
take  its  place,  but — " 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"There  never  could  be  another  to  take  its  place," 
Daphne  groaned,  feeling  the  heroism  slipping  out  of  her 
system. 

Leila  pressed  her  advantage.     "Besides,  it's  just  the 
thing  to  wear  to  the  tea  this  afternoon." 
"I  wanted  it  for  my  trousseau." 
"But  you're  not  getting  married,  you  said." 
"Not  for  an  awfully  long  time." 
"Better  keep  the  frock,  then,"  Leila  teased. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  form  that  Satan  takes  oftener  than 
that  of  a  fashionable  gown.  In  that  shape  he  offers 
women  the  conquest  of  the  world.  But  Daphne  resisted 
him  and  said  to  Leila:  "Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan! 
I'm  going  to  return  this  gown  and  let  Dutilh  give  Bayard 
credit  for  it.  I  won't  look  at  another  gown  till  I  can  pay 
for  it  out  of  my  own  earnings.  I'll  not  get  married  till 
I  can  buy  the  rest  of  my  trousseau  myself.  I've  decided 
that  an  independent  woman  must  buy  her  own  trousseau." 

Even  in  the  eyes  of  ambition  this  promised  to  require 
a  fairly  long  period — a  period  so  lengthy  that  she  wondered 
if  Clay's  love  would  outlast  it. 

She  did  love  him  and  the  thought  of  losing  him  alarmed 
her  more  than  the  thought  of  losing  the  precious  gown. 

She  wondered  if  she  would  not  better  reconsider  her 
determination.  Perhaps  it  was  her  duty  to  the  poor  boy 
to  marry  him  at  once.  He  had  longed  for  her,  had  lan- 
guished without  her,  had  rejoiced  at  the  approach  of  their 
union.  The  return  of  the  ring  had  shocked  him  horribly. 
He  might  do  something  desperate.  He  might  kill  himself. 
He  might  already  be  dead.  There  was  a  kind  of  joyous 
frightfulness  about  this  possibility;  it  would  be  so  eloquent 
a  proof  of  love.  But  she  really  must  not  imperil  his  life. 

She  must  send  for  him  to  call  again  that  very  evening. 
But  before  she  could  move,  the  thought  came  to  her  that  if 
he  really  loved  her  he  would  refuse  to  accept  her  first  re- 
buff. He  would  force  his  way  back  to  her,  storm  the 

138 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

lofty  citadel  of  the  apartment-house,  and  demand  at 
least  an  explanation.  She  would  wait  for  that  test. 
It  was  the  part  of  maidenly  modesty.  Even  a  business 
woman  must  retain  her  maidenly  modesty. 

All  these  things  she  had  pondered  while  she  stood  star- 
ing at  the  frock. 

Leila  woke  her  from  her  meditation  with  a  sudden 
"Come  along;  we  must  dress  for  the  tea-fight." 

Mrs.  Kip,  senior,  amused  the  younger  Kips  by  thinking 
aloud:  "I  wonder  if  that  nice  Mr.  Duane  will  be  at  the 
tea." 

"Oh!  shamie  shame!"  cried  Leila.  "It's  a  regular 
intrigue.  No,  he  won't  be  there.  Telephone  him  at  the 
Racquet  Club  and  he'll  come  to  you.  He's  usually  there." 

She  did  not  see  the  start  the  careless  hint  gave  Daphne, 
who  had  learned  by  accident  what  she  had  not  known  how 
to  find  out  otherwise.  Daphne  concealed  her  agitation 
in  the  briskness  with  which  she  concluded  the  affair  of  the 
Dutilh  gown.  She  folded  it  up  and  laid  it  back  in  the  box 
as  if  it  were  a  baby  she  was  about  to  leave  on  a  door- 
step. She  kissed  it  good-by  and  put  the  lid  over  it  and 
tied  it  up  with  a  crazy  combination  of  strings  of  various 
sorts. 

She  refused  to  go  to  the  tea-party,  now  that  the  gown 
was  lost,  and  she  said  she  had  letters  to  write. 

But  when  her  mother  and  Leila  had  left  her  she  wrote 
only  one  letter — a  note  of  regretful  rejection  to  Dutilh. 
She  pinned  it  to  the  box  and  sent  it  off  by  a  messenger. 
Then  she  telephoned  to  Tom  Duane. 

She  did  not  quite  realize  the  temerity  of  calling  a  man 
up  at  his  club,  and  Tom  Duane  misunderstood  her,  im- 
puted her  innocence  to  its  opposite.  He  remembered 
her  as  a  pretty  thing.  If  she  were  brazen — well,  he  liked 
brass  in  certain  forms.  When  she  said  that  she  wanted 
to  have  a  serious  talk  with  him  at  his  convenience,  he 
made  it  the  immediate  moment  at  the  cost  of  breaking  an 
engagement  at  tennis. 

139 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  asked  her  if  she  would  not  meet  him  somewhere  for 
tea,  but  she  said  that  she  preferred  to  see  him  at  her 
brother's  apartment.  His  invitation  aroused  her  sus- 
picion. Her  invitation  confirmed  his. 

Daphne's  heart  was  beating  excitedly  while  she  waited 
for  him  and  she  began  to  feel  that  she  had  put  herself  in  a 
wrong  light.  When  Duane  arrived  and  the  maid  showed 
him  into  the  living-room  Daphne  tried  to  redeem  herself 
by  a  business-like  directness.  She  wasted  no  time  on 
small  talk,  but  charged  at  once  upon  her  purpose: 

"Mr.  Duane,  you  must  think  it  very  peculiar  of  me  to 
drag  you  up  here." 

"I  think  it's  mighty  kind  of  you." 

"You  say  that  before  you  hear  what  I'm  going  to  ask 
you.  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  tremendous  favor." 

"That  will  be  doing  me  a  tremendous  favor,"  he  said, 
with  a  welcoming  eagerness. 

Then  she  amazed  him  with  her  request:  "You  offered 
yesterday — of  course  I  know  you  didn't  mean  it — but  you 
offered  to  get  me  a  job  with  a  theatrical  manager." 

Duane's  hospitable  smile  hardened  into  a  grimace  of 
anxiety.  He  mumbled,  "Oh  yes." 

"You  know  Mr.  Raven — or  whatever  his  name  is — 
very  well,  don't  you?" 

"Mr.  Reben — oh  yes — yes,  I  know  him  fairly  well." 

Daphne  noted  the  qualification.  We  know  so  many 
people  so  well  until  we  are  asked  to  introduce  somebody 
to  them,  then  not  quite  so  well.  Daphne  offered  Duane 
an  escape. 

"I  won't  hold  you  to  it  if  you  want  to  back  out." 

He  responded  handsomely.  "But  I  don't  want  to 
back  out.  If  you  want  to  meet  Mr.  Reben,  I'd  be  doing 
him  a  kindness  in  letting  him  have  the  first  bid  on  you. 
In  fact,  up  at  Claremont  he  asked  me  who  you  were.  He 
said  you  were  a — a  corker.  That's  high  praise  for  old 
Reben.  He's  seen  so  many  beauties.  And  he  was  with 
Miss  Kemble  at  the  time." 

140 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  trembled  with  encouragement.  Approbation 
from  Reben  was  approbation  indeed. 

"I'm  awfully  glad  if  he  liked  me,  because  I  want  some 
of  his  money.  I  want  to  go  on  the  stage." 

"But  I  thought  your  sister  said  you  were  engaged  to 
Clay  Wimburn." 

"I  was,  but—" 

"Really!  Well,  well!  Poor  Wimburn.  What  has  he 
been  up  to?" 

"Nothing  to  his  discredit,  Mr.  Duane!"  She  said  it 
with  a  loyal  defiance.  "The  trouble  is  that  I  have  an 
ambition — " 

"An  ambition  to  shine  among  the  stars — thrill  great 
throngs  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  eh?" 

"No,  just  an  ambition  to  earn  the  money  I  spend." 

"Really!    You  are  as  modern  as  your  clothes." 

"Thank  you.  And  would  you  dare. introduce  me  to 
Mr.  Reben?" 

"Indeed  I  will,  and  proud  to  do  it." 

"Do  you  think  he'll  give  me  a — a  job?" 

"I'll  make  him." 

"How  can  I  ever  repay  you?" 

Her  hand  went  out  to  him  and  he  took  it  and  squeezed 
it,  and  it  squeezed  back  gratefully.  But  he  did  not  let 
go.  Duane  seemed  to  be  excited  suddenly. 

Daphne  drew  her  hand  back,  but  his  came  with  it,  and 
he  followed  close  upon.  There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes 
that  made  her  uneasy.  His  voice  was  uncertain  as  he 
said: 

"You  can  repay  me  easily  enough,  if  you  want  to." 

"I  do.  But  how?  How?"  she  asked,  anxiously,  not 
quite  daring  to  wrench  her  hand  free. 

"By — by  being — by  being  kind  to  me." 

"Kind?     How?" 

He  did  not  answer  with  words,  but  he  lifted  her  hand 
with  both  of  his  to  his  lips.  It  was  an  act  of  old-fangled 
gallantry  that  could  hardly  be  resented.  But,  manlike, 

141 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

having  made  a  formal  surrender,  he  tried  to  take  command. 
One  hand  held  hers,  the  other  swept  round  her  shoulders 
and  pressed  her  against  him,  without  roughness,  yet  with 
strength.  His  lips  moved  now,  not  toward  her  hand,  but 
toward  the  sacredness  of  her  mouth. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DAPHNE  bent  her  head  so  quickly  that  his  pressed 
lips  touched  her  hair.  She  flung  backward  and 
thrust  him  away  and  broke  from  his  hold. 

"  Agh !"  she  groaned.  "  I  suppose  I  deserve  the  insult — 
for  trusting  you." 

"I  didn't  intend  it  for  an  insult."  He  followed  her 
with  pleading  arms. 

She  backed  away  and  found  herself  in.  a  corner,  flushed 
and  furious,  at  bay. 

"How  dare  you?"  she  stormed,  and  thought  with  nausea 
how  often  the  phrase  had  been  used  and  with  what 
hypocrisy. 

It  seemed  to  fall  familiarly  on  his  ear,  for  he  laughed 
comfortably.  "How  can  I  help  it?" 

"If  you  touch  me  I'll — I'll  hit  you." 

He  paused,  stared  deep  into  her  eyes.  "Do  you  mean 
it?" 

"Of  course  I  mean  it." 

' '  You  don't  always,  you  know.  You  don't  always  mean 
it." 

She  looked  puzzled. 

"I'm  speaking  of  your  sex  in  general  whan  I  say  you. 
Perhaps  you've  heard  the  phrase,  'A  woman's  No  means 
Yes.'" 

She  answered  his  light  satire  with  a  fierce  vigor:  "My 
No  means  No  to  you,  Mr.  Duane!" 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  sighed.  "But  won't  you  let  me  ex- 
plain?" 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"You  don't  have  to.  It's  all  my  fault  for  inviting  you 
here." 

"Oh  no,  I  beg  you  not  to  think  that  I'm  such  a  cad." 

"Please  go!" 

"All  right!"  he  murmured,  and  left  the  room. 

She  heard  his  stick  rattle  as  he  took  it  from  the  um- 
brella-jar. She  thought:  " There  goes  my  opportunity — 
my  career!  Well,  let  it  go!  It  wasn't  worth  the  price!" 

Duane  appeared  at  the  door  again  to  say:  "Oh,  by  the 
way,  that  introduction  to  Mr.  Reben.  Do  you  still 
want  it?" 

"No,  thank  you,  not  from  you.     Good-by." 

He  bowed  farewell,  then  changed  his  mind,  entered  the 
room  and  sat  down,  and  motioned  her  to  a  seat  as  if  it  were 
his  house. 

"Miss  Kip,  may  I  say  one  word  to  you?  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  understand  you  women  people.  I'm  not  sure  now 
just  now  sincere  you  are,  just  how  much  of  a  ninny  you 
may  think  me  for  being  rebuffed  so  easily." 

"  So  easily !"  she  gasped. 

"I  didn't  put  up  much  of  a  fight,  now,  did  I?  You 
didn't  have  to  scream  for  help,  did  you?  One  of  the 
hardest  things  a  man  has  to  encounter,  Miss  Kip,  is  the 
insincerity  of  you  women — of  so  many  of  you  at  least. 
The  sincere  ones  have  to  suffer  for  the  insincere.  I've 
no  doubt — that  is,  I  have  a  doubt,  but  I'm  willing  to 
assume — that  you  really  don't  want  me  to  kiss  you.  I 
don't  see  why  you  should;  but  so  many  women  take 
kisses  from  such  queer  men  that — well,  a  man  never 
knows.  Experience  is  no  guide.  But — well — anyway 
— what  I  wanted  to  say  is  this — there  is  hardly  any  man 
that  would  even  bother  a  woman  unwilling  to  be  bothered 
if  he  could  only  be  certain  that  he  was  really  bothering 
her.  Do  I  make  myself  clear?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"Well,  then,  I  give  up.  But  I  must  leave  you  a  bit  of 
advice,  You  say  you  want  to  earn  money.  If  you  do, 

144 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

on  the  stage  or  in  any  other  business,  you  will  meet  a  lot 
of  men  who  will  feel  it  their  duty  to  try  to  kiss  you  at  the 
first  opportunity.  It's  not  only  because  you  are  so  pretty, 
for  I  really  believe  the  homeliest  girls  get  the  most  kisses. 
Perhaps  it's  because  they're  not  so  particular — but,  any- 
way, it's  not  because  men  are  villains  that  they  try  to  kiss 
women,  but  because  they're  obliging.  It's  their  instinct 
to  provide  the  helpless  creatures  with  any  little  luxuries 
they  may  want — jewels,  candies,  flowers,  dresses,  kisses — 
anything.  Most  men  are  stodgy,  timid,  and  deadly  re- 
spectable, and  dismally  interested  in  their  work.  But 
there  is  an  old  superstition  — I  don't  know  how  false  it  is, 
or  how  true;  no  man  ever  can  know — but  there  is  a  tradi- 
tion that  every  woman  expects  every  man  she  meets  to 
offer  her  an  insult — that's  the  technical  term — as  soon  as 
they  are  alone. 

"He  doesn't  always  make  the  offer,  for  there  are  just 
as  many  honorable  men  as  there  are  women.  Every 
Mrs.  Potiphar  will  find  a  lot  of  Josephs  if  she  looks  around. 

"That  feeling,  however,  is  what  women  are  going  to 
run  into  every  time  they  try  to  force  their  way  into  busi- 
ness. It  will  die  out,  I  suppose,  to  a  certain  extent,  as 
you  crowd  into  our  field.  It  will  be  one  of  the  last 
privileges  you'll  lose.  You're  already  permitted  to  stand 
up  in  the  street-cars  and  go  out  after  dark  alone.  By  and 
by  you  will  have  to  make  your  advances  to  the  men  your- 
selves in  the  frankest  manner,  instead  of  subtly  as  now." 

Daphne  broke  in,  coldly,  "That  will  be  a  very  welcome 
day  to  most  of  us." 

Somehow  it  did  not  sound  convincing  to  her.  There 
was  grave  conviction,  however,  in  his  response: 

"  It  will  be  a  mighty  welcome  day  to  us  poor  men,  Miss 
Kip.  For  most  men  haven't  the  faintest  desire  to  spoon 
with  women.  It's  hard  enough  for  some  of  them  to  keep 
their  own  sweethearts  and  wives  sufficiently  caressed. 
We're  lazy,  and  we  hate  to  give  up  our  seats  and  lift  our 
hats  and  bow  and  scrape.  We  do  those  things  because 

US 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

we're  expected  to.    We  hate  to  go  to  war,  but  we  do  it 
rather  than  be  pointed  at. 

"Then  there's  another  thing — if  I'm  not  boring  you — • 
I  haven't  made  as  long  a  speech  since  I  was  a  school- 
boy and  recited  'Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators.'" 

"Go  on,  please,"  said  Daphne.  "A  woman  doesn't 
often  get  the  chance  of  hearing  a  man  tell  the  truth  about 
these  thiners." 

Her  sarcasm  chilled  him  a  little,  but  he  went  on : 

"I  just  want  to  say  this — it's  an  old  man's  advice  to  a 
young  woman  going  into  business:  when  a  man  asks  for  a 
job  he  brings  references,  and  they  are  investigated;  or  he 
answers  a  lot  of  questions,  and  he  is  given  a  trial.  Or  when 
two  men  meet  in  a  club  or  elsewhere  they  shake  hands. 
That  handshake  itself  is  a  kind  of  investigation  of  char- 
acter. They  learn  each  other's  politics  and  religion  and 
prejudices  as  soon  as  they  can. 

"So  when  a  man  meets  a  woman  he  is  apt  to  be  thrown 
with  a  good  deal  he  is  apt  to  say,  'What  sort  is  she?' 
If  she's  a  bookkeeper  or  stenographer,  he  wants  to  know 
if  she  can  spell  and  punctuate  and  add  two  and  two  and 
be  trusted  with  the  petty  cash.  Also,  he  wants  to  know 
if  she  expects  him  to  flirt  with  her.  He  usually  hopes  to 
Heaven  that  she  doesn't — though,  of  course,  there  are  all 
sorts  of  men,  just  as  there  are  all  sorts  of  women,  and  all 
sorts  of  men  and  women  have  all  the  other  sorts  of  moods. 
But  the  thing  that  annoys  a  man  most  about  having  to  do 
business  with  a  woman  is  the  fear  that  he  will  either  com- 
promise her  or  disappoint  her.  That's  the  first  problem 
to  get  out  of  the  way;  and  there's  nothing  easier  for  a 
woman  to  do  than  to  convince  a  man  that  she  doesn't 
want  him  to  try  to  flirt  with  her — if  she  doesn't." 

Daphne  cried,  "In  Heaven's  name,  tell  me  how  it's 
done." 

"The  way  to  convince  him  is  to  be  convinced  yourself. 
If  you're  sincere  he'll  know  it." 

"But  I  was  sincere  with  you,  and  you  didn't  know  it." 
146 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"I  didn't  know  it  at  first,  but  I  soon  did — I  think — and 
now  that's  what  I'm  driving  at  all  this  long  while.  If 
you're  going  into  business  competition  with  men,  play 
fair.  Every  now  and  then  one  of  them,  as  soon  as  he 
finds  himself  alone  with  you,  will  be  polite  enough  to 
insult  you.  Some  men,  of  course,  wouldn't  bother  you 
if  you  were  cast  on  a  desert  island  together,  and  others 
would  grab  you  in  a  crowd.  But  the  average  man  will 
let  you  alone  if  you'll  let  him  alone.  Suppose  he  does  make 
a  mistaken  advance,  if  you  could  be  sensible  enough  not  to 
get  mad,  not  to  feel  besmirched,  but  just  take  it  as  a 
matter  of  course  and  say,  frankly:  'No,  thanks,  I'm  not 
interested.  I  understand  you  perfectly,  but  you  needn't 
bother,'  or  something  like  that,  and  say  it  honestly,  the 
rest  would  be  plain  sailing. 

"Some  of  the  best,  squarest  friendships  in  the  world 
have  started  with  a  little  wrestling  like  ours,  or  with  a  slap 
in  the  face,  and  an  honest  apology.  But  it  needn't  go  so 
far  as  that  if  the  girl  is  sensible  and  square.  Do  you  un- 
derstand me?" 

"  I  think  I  do.  It  seems  a  pity,  though,  that  a  woman 
has  to  be  so  misunderstood." 

"Oh,  nearly  everything  is  a  pity,  and  the  men  are  mis- 
understood, too.  Most  men  mean  well  toward  women. 
Most  men  are  more  interested  in  their  work  than  in  all 
the  flirtations  in  the  world.  Perhaps  the  day  will  come 
when  women  are  so  numerous  in  business  that  a  man 
would  no  more  think  of  trying  to  flirt  with  one  than  he 
would  try  to  kiss  every  darky  elevator-boy  he  meets. 
But  we  haven't  got  that  far  yet." 

There  was  a  silent  period  of  meditation  on  the  all- 
important  social  philosophies  he  had  expounded,  and  then 
he  said: 

"And  now,  if  you'll  forgive  me  for  talking  your  arm  off 
and  if  you'll  prove  it  by  letting  me  help  you,  I'll  promise 
never  to  kiss  you  or  try  to  till — till  you  ask  me  to." 

Daphne  laughed  refreshedly  at  his  impudence,  and  he 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

laughed  as  well  as  he  might.  And  they  shook  hands  with 
comradeship. 

"And  may  I  arrange  for  you  to  meet  Reben?" 

"I  hate  to  ask  you  now.  I've  no  right  to  trouble  you. 
But  I'm  terribly  anxious  to  get  a  job." 

"And  I'm  terribly  anxious  to  get  you  one." 

"You're  an  awfully  nice  man  and  I — I — " 

He  paused,  with  a  look  of  mock  alarm.  "You're  not 
going  to  ask  me  already?" 

His  buffoonery  amused  her.  She  shook  her  head  reas- 
suringly and  bade  him  good-by.  But  still  he  did  not  go. 
He  lingered  to  say:  "If  you're  expecting  to  see  Reben, 
the  sooner  the  better.  He  might  have  a  job  this  morning 
that  would  be  gone  this  afternoon.  Let  me  telephone 
him  from  here." 

"You're  awfully  kind,"  she  said,  and  led  him  to  the 
telephone. 

She  felt  that  it  would  be  indelicate  to  listen,  and  went 
back  into  the  living-room  of  the  apartment.  There 
Duane  joined  her  in  a  few  moments  with  the  terrifying 
news  that  Reben  had  said  that  he  might  have  a  chance  to 
place  her  at  once  if  she  would  come  to  his  office  without 
delay. 

Opportunity  bouncing  out  at  her  like  a  jack-in-the-box 
alarmed  her.  But  she  faced  it  pluckily.  She  put  on  her 
hat  with  trembling  hands  and  went  down  in  the  elevator 
with  Duane. 

The  doorman  checked  a  passing  taxicab  and  Duane 
helped  her  in.  She  was  so  exquisite  and  anachronistic  as 
a  seeker  after  adventure  that  he  wished  he  had  not 
promised  to  keep  his  hands  off.  But  he  respected  the 
troth,  and  reached  the  theater  with  his  honor  safe. 

Daphne  had  no  thought  of  philandering.  Her  flirtation 
was  with  her  great  career,  and  she  was  utterly  afraid  of  it. 

They  went  up  in  an  elevator  at  one  side  of  the  lobby 
of  the  theater  and  stepped  out  at  Reben's  office  door.  A 
number  of  somber  and  despondent  persons  of  a  theatrical 

148 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

complexion  were  waiting  there  also,  the  wretched  Laz- 
aruses  of  art. 

Duane  spoke  to  a  respectful  office-boy  who  disappeared 
through  a  door  and  returned  to  beckon  him  in.  With 
heart  bounding  high  and  bubbling  at  her  throat,  Daphne 
entered  the  theatrical  world  by  one  of  its  most  gilded 
portals. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  great  Reben  sat  bulkily  behind  an  ornate  table- 
desk,  and  dismissed  a  still  more  ornate  stenographer 
with  a  nod  as  he  rose  to  greet  Duane. 

Duane  did  the  honors:  "Mr.  Reben,  I  want  to  present 
you  to  Miss  Kip,  Miss  Daphne  Kip." 

Reben  greeted  her  with  suavity  and  his  eyes  were  even 
more  enthusiastic  than  his  words.  Daphne  was  at  her 
superlative  degree  and  anxiety  gave  her  a  wistfulness  that 
was  appealing  to  Reben.  Women's  charms  and  wistful- 
nesses  made  up  a  large  part  of  his  wares  in  trade. 

"It  is  a  pleasure  to  meet  any  of  Mr.  Duane's  friends," 
Reben  was  saying  in  a  thick,  syrupy  tone.  "For  he  is  the 
true  friend  of  the  theater.  He  does  not  act,  or  manage,  or 
write  criticisms;  he  does  not  sell  us  paper  or  advertising 
or  false  hair.  He  buys  tickets,  and  he  tells  his  friends  what 
he  likes.  He  is  Mr.  Audience.  And  he  tells  me  you  are 
Miss  Audience." 

Duane  had  told  him  more  than  that,  but  it  was  good 
business  to  make  Daphne  speak  her  message  in  her  own 
words.  It  put  her  at  a  more  suppliant  disadvantage. 
So  now  she  said,  timidly  enough: 

"But  I  want  to  quit  being  audience  and  cross  over  to 
your  side  of  the  footlights." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  said  Reben.  "But  where  shall  we  be 
if  all  the  audiences  come  around  to  the  back  door?  what 
audiences,  that  is,  that  the  moving  pictures  have  left  us. 
Have  you  had  any  experience?" 

"None." 

"Studied  elocution?" 

'5* 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Never.     I  never  spoke  a  piece  in  my  life." 
' '  Good !    Amateur  theatricals  ?" 
"Never.     I  never  seemed  to  care  for  them." 
"Better  yet!    What  makes  you  think  you  want  to  act 
now?" 

"Money.     I  want  to  earn  money — get  rich." 
"  It's  a  relief  to  hear  you  omit  art-talk,  anyway.     Well, 
you've  come  to  the  right  place  for  money;   all  actresses 
get  rich.     What  sort  of  parts  do  you  prefer?" 
"The  ones  that  pay  the  best." 
"Those  parts  pay  best  that  suit  personality  best." 
"Oh,  I  have  no  personality.     I  have  good  health;  that's 
about  all.     I  don't  think  I  should  care  for  tragedy.     I'll 
leave  Lady  Macbeth  and  Tosca  to  taller  people.    What 
I  like  best  is  modern  comedy  with  a  little  pathos  and 
some  excitement,  and  nice  clothes  and  a  touch  of  romance 
with  a  happy  ending." 

"A  play  like  Miss  Kemble's,  for  instance?" 
"Exactly.     It's  my  ideal  of  a  play,  and  Miss  Kemble  is 
my  ideal  of  an  actress." 

"I  see,"  said  Reben,  and  fell  into  a  profound  meditation, 
studying  Daphne  searchingly. 

Duane  seized  the  opportunity  to  rise  and  say:  "Well, 
I'll  leave  you  two  together  to  talk  terms.  It  would  be 
indelicate  for  me  to  know  just  how  rich  Miss  Kip  is  going 
to  be." 

He  had  no  sooner  gone  than  Reben's  manner  changed 
slightly,  and  Daphne's  courage  vanished.  Reben  paced 
the  floor  as  he  talked.  His  path  kept  slowly  closing  in 
around  her  like  the  walls  in  Poe's  story. 

"You  look  like  Miss  Kemble,"  he  said.  "You  have 
somewhat  the  same  temperament.  You  like  her  style  of 
play.  That  may  be  your  line.  I  can't  tell.  Of  course 
I  don't  know  how  well  you  can  act.  Perhaps  you  never 
could.  Kemble  is  great,  but  she  comes  of  an  old  theatrical 
family.  She  was  born  on  the  stage.  She  has  acted  more 
or  less  since  she  was  a  baby.  It  is  not  easy  to  act.  I 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

have  seen  nice,  intelligent  girls — not  so  pretty  as  you,  of 
course,  but  pretty — faint  away  with  excitement  at  hav- 
ing to  say  'A  letter  for  yo'u,  miss.'  You  don't  look  hys- 
terical. You  look  self-reliant.  And  you  might  succeed. 
Of  course  you  have  one  great  capital — your  beauty;  for 
you  are  very  beautiful,  Miss  Kip,  very.  Let  me  see  your 
eyes!" 

He  had  a  right  to  ask,  if  he  were  going  to  hire  her  eyes, 
but  she  looked  up  cravenly,  for  the  burly  satrap  was 
leaning  over  her.  His  left  hand  was  on  the  arm  of  the 
chair,  his  right  on  the  back  of  it.  His  left  hand  was 
gradually  enveloping  hers.  It  was  a  fat,  hot  hand,  and 
his  face  was  so  close  that  it  was  blurred  in  her  vision. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  shudder  away  and  strike  out 
or  cry  out,  to  run  from  the  room  or  leap  from  the  window. 
Then  she  remembered  Duane's  words.  She  controlled 
herself  enough  to  put  them  to  the  test. 

She  pretended  to  look  coldly  into  Reben's  face,  and  she 
said,  with  a  brave  show  of  calm:  "Mr.  Reben,  I  didn't 
come  here  to  flirt  with  you  and  I  don't  intend  to.  I  came 
here  for  a  job  as  an  actress.  If  this  sort  of  thing  is  a 
necessary  part  of  the  job  I'll  go  somewhere  else." 

Reben  backed  away  and  stared  at  her.  He  was  ren- 
dered foolish  by  her  rebuff,  and  he  stammered,  "Why  I — 
I  meant  no  harm." 

She  went  on  with  the  Duane  system  of  treatment: 
"I  know  you  didn't.  You  meant  to  be  polite,  but  you 
don't  have  to  be  so  polite  with  me.  I  don't  expect  it  and 
I  don't  like  it." 

"All  right,  all  right!"  Reben  growled,  pacing  the  floor 
again,  but  in  a  constantly  receding  path.  He  did  not 
speak.  He  felt  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself,  and  he 
was  embarrassed. 

Daphne  was  so  frightened  with  her  success  that  she  got 
to  her  feet,  saying:  "I  suppose  this  means  that  you  don't 
want  me  to  work  for  you.  It's  true,  then,  what  they  say 
about  the  stage." 

152 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"  Nonsense !  Of  course  not !  Rot !  I  never  see  most  of 
my  people  except  at  rehearsals  or  performances.  I've 
never  spoken  to  three-quarters  of  'em.  If  you  want  a  job, 
you  can  have  it,  and  no  concessions  are  necessary.  You 
don't  have  to  make  love  to  me.  You  make  love  to  the 
audience,  and  if  you  can  capture  that  you  can  slap  my 
face  every  time  you  see  me." 

Daphne  was  astounded.  She  was  engaged!  She  was 
exultant  and  thrilled  with  gratitude  to  Duane  for  intro- 
ducing her  to  this  marvelous  opportunity  and  for  the 
wisdom  of  his  counsel. 

Reben  said :  "  If  you'd  come  yesterday  I'd  have  said  I  had 
nothing  for  you.  But  this  very  morning  a  chance  arose;  I 
had  already  sent  to  the  agencies  for  some  one  to  fill  it." 

Daphne  had  visions  of  stepping  into  the  shoes  of  a  star, 
but  they  speedily  fled  before  Reben's  words: 

"The  general  understudy  of  the  Kemble  Company  has 
grown  tired  of  waiting  for  a  chance  to  appear  in  public. 
She  has  led  a  life  like  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask.  She's 
quitting  me  this  week  for  a  small  part  in  a  road  company. 
You  can  have  her  place  if  you  want  it.  Do  you?" 

"You  bet — er — indeed  I  do.  How  often  does  an  under- 
study play?" 

"As  rarely  as  possible." 

Daphne's  joy  turned  to  lead. 

Reben  added:  "But  we  don't  pay  by  performances. 
I'll  pay  you  twenty-five  a  week.  You  wanted  money. 
There's  a  little  of  it  for  a  start.  Do  you  want  it?" 

"Will  it  lead  to  anything  better?" 

"It  might.  There  are  legends  of  understudies  getting 
their  long-sought  chances  unexpectedly  and  making  them- 
selves stars  in  a  single  night.  I've  heard  of  it,  but  I 
never  knew  it.  Still,  I've  known  plenty  of  understudies 
to  get  good  jobs  and  go  on  up  the  ladder." 

"And  I  am  to  understudy  Miss  Kemble?" 

"Yes,  and  all  the  other  women  rdleg," 

153 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"And  when  do  you  suppose  I'll  get  a  chance  to  play 
Miss  Kemble's  part?  Soon?" 

"Never,  I  hope." 

' '  That's  encouraging !' ' 

"If  Miss  Kemble  fell  ill,  we'd  ordinarily  refund  the 
money,  because  she's  the  star.  But  sometimes  we  might 
have  to  go  ahead  and  give  a  performance  at  short  notice. 
Chances  in  the  other  parts  might  come  any  day." 

"I'm  a  sort  of  fireman,  then?" 

"Exactly;  and  the  fewer  times  you're  called  out,  the 
gladder  I  am  to  pay  your  salary." 

"And  you'll  give  me  a  better  chance  when  you  can?" 

"Indeed  I  will.  If  you  have  the  gift,  the  sooner  I  find 
it  out  and  the  harder  I  work  it  the  more  money  I  make. 
The  more  you  earn  the  more  I  make.  I'd  like  to  pay  you 
ten  thousand  a  week." 

"I'd  like  to  have  you.     All  right,  I'll  try." 

He  pressed  a  button  on  his  desk  once,  then  twice. 
The  office-boy  appeared,  followed  by  the  stenographer. 
Reben  said  to  the  boy:  "Is  Mr.  Batterson  here?  Send 
him  to  me."  To  the  stenographer  he  said:  "Fill  out  a 
contract  for  Miss  Kip — Miss —  What's  the  first  name? 
Miss  Daphne  Kip.  Salary,  twenty-five.  Make  it  a  three- 
year  contract." 

Daphne  felt  as  flattered  as  a  slave  who  has  brought  a 
high  price  at  an  auction.  She  was  a  trifle  terrified  at  that 
"three  years."  Still,  this  was  no  time  for  quarreling  with 
terms.  It  would  always  be  easy  to  lose  a  job. 

Reben  was  already  busy  at  his  desk.  He  motioned  her 
absently  to  her  chair  and  said,  rather  for  Duane's  sake 
than  hers,  she  felt:  "Sit  down,  won't  you,  till  the  con- 
tracts come?  and  pardon  me  if  I — 

He  finished  the  phrase  by  the  deed.  The  office  routine 
went  on  and  Daphne  might  have  been  the  chair  she  sat  in, 
for  all  the  attention  he  paid  her.  She  felt  rather  un- 
gallantly  ignored.  Still,  she  had  asked  to  be  treated  on  a 
business  basis.  He  was  taking  her  at  her  word. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BEFORE  the  contracts  were  ready  Mr.  Batterson 
appeared.  He  was  one  of  Reben's  stage-managers, 
a  worried,  emotional,  little  man,  worn  to  shreds  with  his 
task  of  stimulating  and  correcting  the  emotions  by  which 
others  earned  their  wages  and  fame. 

Reben  introduced  him  to  Daphne  and  explained  her  new 
office.  Batterson  seemed  none  too  well  pleased  with  the 
news  that  Daphne  was  ignorant  of  stage  work  to  the  last 
degree.  He  had  found  it  hard  enough  to  make  the  ex- 
perienced actors  read  their  lines  as  they  must  be  read 
and  keep  on  reading  them  so.  To  teach  this  dramatic 
infant  how  to  walk  and  talk  was  an  unwelcome  labor. 

He  took  Daphne  into  his  office  and  pulled  out  a  set  of 
parts.  They  had  been  much  handled  by  previous  actresses 
and  marked  with  cuts,  revisions,  and  business.  Daphne 
did  not  know  what  a  cue  looked  like.  When  Batterson 
spoke  of  the  number  of  "sides"  in  a  part  she  could  find 
only  two.  The  abbreviations  "bus."  and  "X"  or  "Xes" 
left  her  in  the  dark. 

When  she  stumbled  over  them  he  cast  his  eyes  heaven- 
ward in  his  swift  impatience.  He  explained  them  with  a 
vinegary  gentleness.  But  he  at  least  avoided  the  usual 
preliminary  fencing.  He  made  no  effort  whatsoever  to 
flirt  with  her.  Rather  he  gave  her  the  impression  that 
he  was  less  likely  to  seize  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her  than 
to  seize  her  by  the  hair,  drag  her  out  of  his  cave  and 
leave  her  on  the  sidewalk. 

He  talked  to  her  of  the  canons  of  interpretation.  He 
walked  through  her  scenes  and  spoke  her  lines  for  her 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

again  and  again  and  yet  again.     But  somehow  he  could 
not  teach  her. 

She  was  supposed  to  be  a  young,  beautiful  woman, 
quick  to  tears  and  laughter,  and  she  was  all  of  these 
things.  But  she  could  not  seem  to  be  or  pretend  to  be  any 
of  them  on  the  stage.  And  Batterson  only  confused  her. 

He  tried  to  show  her  how  to  enter  the  scene,  say,  "How 
do  you  do?"  quizzically,  whimsically,  walk  on,  sit  down, 
cross  her  knees,  utter  a  line  of  raillery,  and  laugh  amiably. 
But  all  she  could  see  was  a  homely  little  man  with  a 
cigarette  voice,  a  Scotch-whisky  smile,  and  a  laugh  and 
walk  like  a  hyena  prowling  through  a  graveyard.  He  was 
even  less  helpful  when  he  played  the  part  of  the  tall  and 
handsome  hero  whom  she  must  love. 

He  tried  everything  but  beating  her.  He  flattered  her, 
wheedled  her,  parodied,  satirized,  rebuked  her,  and  oc- 
casionally he  cursed  her.  She  did  not  rebel  even  against 
his  profanity,  because  she  had  no  confidence  in  herself 
to  support  her  resistance.  She  felt  that  she  was  far 
worse  than  he  said  she  was  when  he  said  she  was  worst. 
She  used  all  her  funds  of  resolution  in  keeping  from  throw- 
ing down  the  part  and  running  away  in  tears.  She  had 
none  left  for  asserting  her  right  to  politeness. 

If  she  could  have  heard  what  Batterson  said  of  her  to 
Reben  she  would  have  mailed  the  parts  to  him  with  a 
note  of  resignation.  But  Reben  was  used  to  Batterson's 
hyperboles  and  he  had  seen  triumphs  emerge  from  despair, 
swans  from  ugly  ducklings. 

He  had  seen  apparent  imbeciles  suddenly  get  the  hang 
of  it  and  become  artists  overnight.  There  were  certain 
notoriously  bad  rehearsers  whom  only  an  audience  in- 
spired. 

He  had  such  hopes  of  Daphne,  and  Duane  exerted  pres- 
sure on  him  to  give  her  at  least  a  chance.  So  he  reminded 
Batterson  that  the  divine  Sarah  Bernhardt  and  the  im- 
mortal Mrs.  Siddons  had  begun  with  failure;  and  he  in- 
sisted on  letting  the  girl  be  heard. 

156 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  was  the  more  eager  to  have  an  understudy  ready 
since  one  of  the  children  of  Miss  Kemble  (legally  Mrs. 
Bret  Winfield)  was  ill. 

Once  Daphne  was  out  in  the  street  again  and  released 
from  the  ordeal  of  pleasing  Batterson,  youth  and  ambition 
brought  hope  back  again.  Broadway  at  twilight  was 
athrob  with  enthusiasm  and  she  caught  zest  from  the 
crowds.  She  was  going  home  to  study,  carrying  her  little 
set  of  text-books  like  a  school-girl.  But  she  felt  the  wings 
of  conquest  fledging  at  her  ankles  or  the  wheel  of  fortune 
spinning  under  her  toes. 

Her  very  first  effort  had  succeeded.  She  was  a  woman 
with  a  salary.  She  would  be  no  longer  a  parasite  on  any 
man.  She  had  a  career  and  a  business  as  well  as  the 
best  of  them. 

She  preferred  to  walk.  It  kept  her  in  touch  with  the 
people  whom  she  was  to  sway.  These  outdoor  currents 
would  all  turn  into  her  theater  some  night.  Perhaps  she 
would  some  day  have  a  theater  named  after  her,  as  other 
actresses  did  who  had  had  no  more  advantage  than  she 
at  first. 

She  had  read  of  their  delays  and  despondencies  and 
their  economies.  That  was  a  beautiful  word — economy. 
She  was  enjoying  economy  now,  saving  a  cab  fare,  or  at 
the  worst  a  street-car  fare. 

Her  mother  was  at  home  alone.  Leila  had  gone  from 
that  tea-party  to  another  to  which  Mrs.  Kip  was  not 
invited.  Daphne's  mother  greeted  her  with  relief.  She 
had  been  worrying  about  Daphne's  being  out  alone  at 
dark.  Daphne  laughed  with  boyish  contempt  for  parental 
timidity.  That  business  of  being  watched  for  at  twilight 
was  all  over  now.  She  told  her  news  with  a  gush  of  en- 
thusiasm. It  left  Mrs.  Kip  cold,  very  cold. 

She  was  a  pious,  church-going  woman,  Mrs.  Kip.  She 
had  always  looked  upon  the  theater  as  a  training-school  for 
the  still  lower  regions,  She  went  to  plays  occasionally, 

iS7 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

but  usually  with  a  feeling  of  dissipation  and  worldliness. 
Besides,  it  was  one  thing  to  see  plays  and  another  to  act 
them. 

To  have  her  own  daughter  enter  the  playhouse  by  the 
stage-door  was  an  incredibly  cruel  blow.  If  Daphne  had 
proudly  announced  her  intention  of  going  on  the  streets, 
Mrs.  Kip  could  hardly  have  been  more  alarmed.  The 
worst  of  it  was  that  she  did  not  have  to  go.  She  had  a 
father  who  had  money  enough  and  was  generous  with  it. 
Mrs.  Kip,  like  other  wives,  was  occasionally  driven  to 
score  a  word  of  praise  for  her  husband  to  keep  her  chil- 
dren from  scoring — a  kind  of  "safety  goal,"  a  football 
player  would  call  it.  Also  she  reminded  Daphne  that  she 
had  a  rich  brother,  and  a  nice  young  man  dying  to  marry 
her.  There  was  no  need  of  her  going  utterly  to  the  bad. 

Daphne  tried  to  reason  her  mother  out  of  her  back- 
woods prejudices,  but  she  only  frightened  her  the  more. 
Mrs.  Kip  retired  to  her  room  to  write  an  urgent  telegram 
to  her  husband  demanding  that  he  come  on  at  once  and 
rescue  his  child.  She  always  called  on  him  in  an  emer- 
gency and  he  always  responded. 

She  was  crying  so  hard  that  she  could  hardly  finish 
the  telegram.  Daphne,  in  the  mean  while,  was  in  the 
living-room,  trying  hard  to  memorize  her  lines  and  cues. 
The  star  role  was  lying  on  the  table  before  her,  and  she 
kept  her  fingers  on  her  ears  to  drown  out  the  lamentations 
of  her  mother. 

Leila  came  home  eventually  full  of  gossip  and  triumph. 
Her  Dutilh  gown  had  made  a  tremendous  success;  the 
other  women  wanted  to  murder  her. 

Mrs.  Kip  broke  in  on  her  chronicles  with  the  dismal 
announcement  of  Daphne's  new  insanity.  Leila  was  al- 
most as  bitter  in  opposition  as  Mrs.  Kip  had  been,  but 
from  quite  another  motive.  Leila  had  aristocratic  im- 
pulses and  looked  forward  to  social  splendors.  She  would 
gain  no  help  from  the  fact  that  her  husband's  sister  was  a 
theatrical  struggler. 

158 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  escaped  an  odious  battle  with  her  by  referring 
to  the  need  for  close  study,  and  retreated  into  her  own 
room,  locking  her  mother  out. 

She  stayed  there,  repeating  her  lines  over  and  over  and 
trying  to  remember  the  action  that  went  with  them  as 
Miss  Kemble  had  played  it.  She  had  a  quick  memory, 
but  the  intonation  of  the  lines  gave  her  extraordinary 
difficulty. 

She  remembered  one  of  Miss  Kemble's  most  delicious 
effects.  She  came  on  the  stage  unannounced  and,  pausing 
in  the  doorway,  smiled  whimsically  and  said,  "How  do  you 
do?"  That  was  all — just  "How  do  you  do?"  But  she 
uttered  it  so  deliciously  that  a  ripple  of  joy  ran  through 
the  audience.  Daphne  tried  to  master  the  trick  of  it,  but 
with  no  success.  She  said  "How  do  you  do?"  in  dozens  of 
ways,  with  no  result  except  to  render  the  phrase  meaning- 
less gibberish. 

She  began  to  realize  that  the  art  of  acting  abounded  in 
mysterious  little  difficulties,  undreamed  of  by  the  laity. 
She  feared  that  she  would  never  master  them  even  by 
brute  force  or  by  inspiration.  A  ghastly  doubt  of  her 
ability  to  succeed  so  shattered  her  confidence  that  she 
resolved  to  give  up  her  plans  for  a  stage  career,  or  any 
career.  In  a  mood  of  fierce  self -analysis  her  soul  cried 
aloud  within  the  reverberant  caverns  of  itself: 

"Daphne  Kip,  you  have  no  temperament!  You  have 
no  artistic  sense,  and  you  never  had.  You  were  never 
good  for  anything,  and  you  never  will  be.  You  are  just 
ordinary  clay  without  imagination,  or  gifts,  or  any  hope 
of  a  career.  You're  just  like  everybody  else  in  the  crowd 
of  nobodies." 

Among  all  the  duels  of  life  where  two  friends  or  enemies 
cross  swords  there  are  none  so  hideous  as  those  when  the 
soul  like  a  Siamese  monstrosity  turns  upon  itself,  pounding, 
biting,  reviling. 

Daphne  flung  down  the  part  she  was  studying  and  flung 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

away  ambition,  and  went  out  to  tell  the  family  that  she 
agreed  with  them. 

She  was  confronted  by  Leila  in  a  role  of  despair.  Bay- 
ard had  telephoned  that  he  could  not  get  home  for  dinner. 
He  would  not  be  home  in  time  to  take  Leila  to  the  theater 
as  he  had  promised. 

Leila  was  in  a  frenzy.  Her  old  problems,  "What's  to 
become  of  me?"  and,  "How  am  I  to  kill  all  this  time?" 
were  paramount  again.  She  had  nothing  to  do  but  wait 
for  her  man  to  come  and  take  her  somewhere.  Daphne 
understood  the  tragedy  of  the  modern  wife:  dowered  with 
freedom,  pampered  with  amusements,  deprived  of  the 
blessing  of  toil,  unaccustomed  to  seraglian  torpor,  she 
must  yet  wait  on  the  whims  or  necessities  of  her  husband. 

Daphne  reconsidered  her  decisions.  Better  all  the 
difficulties  and  heartaches  of  the  actress-trade  than  this 
prison  loafing  of  wifely  existence.  She  had  something  to 
do.  She  would  be  a  star,  and  her  theater  would  rescue 
forlorn  women  and  shop-worn  husbands  from  the  torture 
of  idle  evenings. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

'"PHE  three  women  dined  together.  Leila,  disgusted, 
1  called  it  a  hen  party.  She  recalled  the  recent  times 
before  her  marriage  when  she  was  never  left  alone  of  an 
evening.  Bayard  himself  had  held  her  first  in  his  life.  But 
as  soon  as  he  got  her,  and  clamped  the  wedding-ring  on 
her,  he  put  her  on  a  shelf  and  forgot  her.  She  warned 
Daphne  not  to  be  fooled  as  she  had  been;  Clay  Wimburn 
would  neglect  her,  once  she  was  married,  just  as  Bayard 
neglected  his  wife. 

Leila  was  all  for  going  to  a  theater  in  spite  of  Bayard, 
and  without  him.  She  offered  to  treat,  if  the  two  others 
would  go  with  her.  Mrs.  Kip  begged  off:  she  could  not 
stand  the  pace;  Leila  could  not  stand  the  repose. 

Daphne  said  that  she  had  to  go  to  Reben's  theater  and 
watch  another  performance  of  the  Kemble  play,  study  it 
for  points.  Leila  had  not  seen  the  play,  and  she  was 
glad  to  accept  an  invitation,  especially  as  Reben  had 
given  Daphne  a  pair  of  complimentary  tickets.  En- 
trance on  a  pass  has  always  added  the  final  note  of  prestige 
to  theater-going. 

While  the  girls  were  dressing,  Daphne  was  called  to  the 
telephone  by  the  astonishing  news  that  Clay  Wimburn 
wanted  to  talk  to  her.  She  felt  an  instinctive  dread  even 
of  speaking  to  him  over  the  wire  in  her  sparse  costume,  and 
gathered  her  bath-robe  together  as  she  set  the  receiver  to 
her  incarnadined  ear. 

Her  heart  was  aglow  with  pride  in  the  fact  that  Clay's 
pride  had  not  outworn  his  love,  and  she  drank  in  his  voice 
as  if  it  were  water  from  a  refreshing  spring. 
6  161 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  announced  what  she  had  hoped  that  he  would 
announce.  He  declared  that  he  would  not  give  her  up 
and  could  not  live  through  the  long  night  unless  she 
granted  him  a  chance  to  see  her  for  a  while. 

She  told  him  of  the  two  theater  tickets  and  wanted  him 
to  buy  a  third  and  act  as  escort.  He  accepted  the  office 
with  enthusiasm.  Daphne  dashed  into  her  clothes,  and 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  house  she  was  ready  and 
waiting. 

But  she  had  not  explained  why  she  wanted  to  see  the 
play  again.  She  had  to  describe  her  appeal  to  Duane, 
his  response,  Reben's  courtesy,  and  her  new  career.  She 
omitted  to  mention  the  rebukes  she  had  had  to  administer 
to  Duane  and  Reben;  but  there  was  horror  enough  in 
what  she  told. 

Clay  revealed  a  power  of  temper  that  she  had  never 
suspected  in  him.  He  broke  forth  into  a  diatribe  against 
Tom  Duane  as  a  wrecker  of  homes,  engagements,  and 
other  paradises,  a  serpent  offering  apples  of  knowledge 
to  every  foolish  little  Eve.  What  he  said  of  the  crimes  of 
the  theatrical  business  and  of  Reben  as  its  chief  Moloch 
could  hardly  have  been  exceeded  by  a  Methodist  preacher 
or  a  theatrical  novelist.  Though  he  had  been  glad  to 
take  Daphne  to  the  theater  as  often  as  he  could  afford  it — 
oftener  than  that — he  did  not  spare  even  the  audience. 

"What  do  you  want  to  go  on  the  stage  for?"  he  de- 
manded. "Why  must  you  go  out  and  display  yourself 
before  a  mob  of  vile  spectators?  What  other  motive 
can  you  have  besides  vanity?  There  might  be  some  ex- 
cuse if  you  were  starving,  but  you've  got  a  father  and  a 
home;  besides,  you've  got  a  husband  waiting  to  slave 
for  you  and  provide  you  with  all  the  comfort  that  love  and 
hard  work  can  get  you.  You  have  no  right  to  go  on  the 
stage.  I  forbid  you  to  paint  up  that  pretty  face  and 
expose  that  pretty  body  to  the  public  and  to  ruin  that 
pretty  soul.  I  forbid  you!  They  belong  to  me!" 

She  admired  his  gifts  of  storm  so  much  that  her  answers 

162 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

were  very  humble.  She  bent  before  the  gale,  but  she 
held  her  new  possessions  all  the  closer  under  the  shelter  of 
her  cloak. 

"I  don't  belong  to  you,  dear,"  she  said,  very  meekly. 
"My  soul  and  body  and  face  don't  belong  to  you.  They 
hardly  belong  to  me.  I  don't  want  you  to  slave  to  buy 
me  things.  I  don't  want  to  take  my  poor  father's  money 
any  more.  I'm  not  starving,  but  I'd  rather  starve  than 
go  on  eating  the  bread  and  cake  somebody  else  is  sweating 
for.  I'm  going  on  the  stage  because  it's  the  quickest 
way  I  know  for  a  woman  to  gain  her  independence,  and 
that's  what  I'm  after." 

"Oh,  you  want  to  be  independent,  eh?  Of  your  people, 
and  of  me,  especially?  You  don't  want  to  love  me  any 
more?"  He  was  very  bitter  in  his  torment;  but  still  she 
kept  gentle: 

"I  think  that  what  I  am  doing  is  proof  of  my  better 
love.  I  think  you  ought  to  help  me." 

"Help  you?  How  can  I  help  you?"  he  snarled.  "I 
don't  know  any  managers.  Tom  Duane  has  already 
taken  you  out  of  my  reach  and  put  you  in  Reben's  power — 
the  blackguards!  I  dare  say  they've  both  already — " 

He  could  not  say  what  he  thought.  The  mere  idea  that 
the  sacred  person  of  his  betrothed  could  have  been  pro- 
faned by  the  caress,  even  by  the  eyes,  of  other  men  was 
intolerable. 

It  was  well  that  emotion  strangled  him,  for  his  accusa- 
tion would  have  been  the  truth,  and  a  most  inconvenient 
truth  to  explain.  In  every  man  there  lingers  an  element 
of  the  instinct  to  wall  his  woman  in  from  the  adventurous 
eyes  of  other  men,  and  to  shroud  her  in  yashmak  and 
shapeless  cloak  when  she  must  be  abroad.  Every  bit  of 
liberty  he  gives  her  hurts  one  part  of  his  soul,  however 
much  the  rest  of  him  may  rejoice. 

It  would  have  been  hard  for  Daphne  to  explain  to  Clay 
Wimburn  that  two  very  kind  gentlemen  had  tried  to  kiss 

163 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

her,  but  had  accepted  her  rebukes  in  good  part  and  con- 
sented to  work  for  her  without  hope  of  future  reward. 

Most  women  meet  that  sort  of  encounter  frequently, 
and  even  the  faithfulest  of  them  feel  that  it  is  wisest 
and  most  loyal  to  keep  such  incidents  to  themselves. 
Otherwise  endless  broils  would  ensue. 

This  is  one  of  the  many  fields  where  secrets  must  grow, 
where  dishonor  stands  rooted  in  honor  and  faith  unfaithful 
keeps  one  truely  false.  The  border  line  even  of  fidelity 
is  therefore  a  wavering,  uncertain,  and  contradictory 
boundary,  and  nobody  can  be  altogether  faithful  to  any 
one  else.  To  be  faithful  in  intention  and  in  general  is  a 
good  deal  to  achieve. 

So  Daphne,  loving  Clay  above  all  other  men,  zealous  to 
make  herself  his  ideal  companion,  had  already  involved 
herself  in  alliances  that  she  could  not  entirely  reveal  to 
him.  She  wondered  how  many  more  of  these  she  would 
accumulate  in  her  new  pilgrimage. 

She  found,  as  lovers  will,  that  the  best  hope  of  recon- 
ciliation lay  in  a  temporary  breach.  She  assumed,  there- 
fore, a  pose  of  cold  dignity.  What  Clay  was  about  to 
accuse  Duane  and  Reben  of  was  so  hateful  as  to  be  almost 
impossible.  The  same  expression  of  repugnance  that  she 
had  used  when  it  happened  served  perfectly  now  to 
rebuke  her  lover  for  imagining  that  it  could  ever  have 
happened. 

She  drew  herself  up  to  all  the  height  she  had  and  spoke 
like  an  offended  princess: 

"If  you  can't  trust  me,  you  can't  really  love  me. 
You'd  better  look  elsewhere  for  somebody  that  will  live 
according  to  your  orders.  Good  night,  Mr.  Wimburn." 

If  he  had  had  wit  enough  to  laugh  and  seize  her  in  his 
arms  he  might  have  brought  her  back  from  the  long 
journey  she  was  beginning.  But  love  blinded  and  en- 
raged him,  and  he  compressed  all  his  disappointments 
and  longing  into  one  bitter  groan  that  sounded  like  a 
gasp  of  disgust.  The  difference  between  "Ah"  and 

164 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Agh!"  is  only  a  breath,  but  it  makes  all  the  difference  to 

the  listener. 

Clay  seemed  to  say  "Agh!"  and  then  "Good  night!" 
He  had  brought  his  engagement-ring  along  with  him. 

He  took  it  away  again. 

Daphne,  with  grim  self-possession  like  the  crust  over  a 

molten  iron,  answered  his  passionate  "Good  night!"  with 

a  calm  "Good  evening." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DAPHNE  closed  the  door  again  on  love  and  went  back 
to  her  mother  and  Leila.  The  look  in  her  eyes 
dared  them  to  ask  her  a  question.  She  would  have 
emptied  the  white-hot  brasier  of  her  anger  at  life  on 
either  of  them  that  spoke. 

They  wisely  pretended  complete  indifference,  and 
Leila  merely  asked  Daphne  if  she  were  ready  to  start 
for  the  theater.  Daphne  said  that  she  was,  and  they 
went  down  to  a  taxicab. 

Leila  said  that  it  was  a  shame  that  she  had  no  auto- 
mobile of  her  own.  Since  Bayard  was  going  to  spend  all 
his  days  and  nights  away  from  her  she  ought  at  least  to 
have  a  car  to  save  her  from  the  humiliation  and  risk  of 
going  about  in  hackney  cabs  with  strange  drivers. 

Daphne  made  no  comments.  She  spent  the  evening  at 
the  theater  in  alternate  flashes  of  wrath  at  the  miserable 
state  of  her  love-affair,  and  of  terror  at  the  things  she  was 
seeing  on  the  stage  and  would  have  to  repeat  some  night 
before  an  audience.  She  tried  to  catch  each  trick  of 
gesture  and  accent  and  to  impress  it  on  her  memory,  but 
her  soul  was  in  a  swirl. 

When  Leila  and  Daphne  got  back  to  the  apartment 
they  found  Bayard  waiting.  He  had  come  home  worn 
out  with  his  office  dramas  and  had  counted  on  finding 
nepenthe  in  his  pretty  wife's  arms.  But  his  pretty  wife 
had  taken  her  arms  elsewhere.  He  was  thrown  into 
further  dejection  and  a  little  alarmed. 

When  at  last  Leila  came  in  he  did  not  greet  her  with 
added  joy  for  her  belated  return,  but  with  protest  at  her 

166 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

absence.  This  hurt  her.  The  more  fiercely  lovers  love 
each  other  the  more  delicate  are  the  antennae  of  their  souls, 
the  more  easily  bruised.  Resentment  always  waits  just 
back  of  passion,  and  there  is  always  a  frail  barrier  between 
a  thrilling  reunion  and  a  good  fight. 

Leila  reacted  to  Bayard's  complaint  of  her  absence  with 
a  complaint  of  his.  Daphne  had  had  enough  of  conflict; 
she  hastened  to  her  own  room  and  made  ready  for  the 
welcome  oblivion  of  sleep. 

But  the  walls  of  the  apartment  were  like  sounding- 
boards,  and  the  wounded  souls  of  Bayard  and  Leila  forgot 
discretion.  They  wrangled  wildly  well. 

It  was  impossible  for  Daphne  and  her  mother  not  to 
hear.  They  stood  together  in  their  nightgowns,  listening 
and  wondering  what  the  outcome  would  be.  They  had 
felt  uncomfortable  enough  at  the  billing  and  cooing  of 
the  two  lovers,  but  the  pecking  and  cawing  on  the  other 
side  of  the  partition  alarmed  them. 

Leila,  in  her  grief  at  being  left  alone  all  day  and  all 
evening,  made  use  of  every  grievance  as  a  weapon.  The 
things  she  had  bought,  the  accounts  she  had  opened  that 
morning  for  further  purchases,  had  been,  at  the  time,  proofs 
of  her  anxiety  to  make  herself  beautiful  for  Bayard. 

Now  she  used  them  as  proofs  of  her  hostility,  as  proofs 
of  her  determination  to  thwart  his  stinginess.  She 
stormed  that  she  would  buy  what  she  needed  in  spite 
of  him.  If  he  preferred  his  business  to  her  love,  she 
would  find  diversion  elsewhere,  as  his  sister  was  doing. 
He  need  not  think  that  he  could  leave  his  wife  to  enter- 
tain his  whole  family  and  turn  their  apartment  into  a  Kip 
hotel  and  expect  her  to  sit  there  and  do  nothing  but  wait 
for  him. 

And  now  the  in-laws  were  in  the  war  with  a  vengeance. 
Mrs.  Kip  and  Daphne  stared  at  each  other  in  dismay. 
They  felt  evicted,  and  whispered  that  they  must  not  spend 
another  night  under  that  roof. 

Bayard,  filled  with  chagrin  at  his  own  plight,  caught 

167 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

between  his  old  family  and  his  new,  struck  out  blindly 
at  both.  He  declared  that  women  were  all  impossible, 
and  that  the  only  wise  man  was  the  monk  in  the  wilder- 
ness. All  that  women  wanted  was  money,  money, 
money,  and  their  affection  was  only  a  pretense. 

He  had  come  home  to  escape  the  money  talk,  and  it  was 
all  he  found  there.  He  berated  Leila  with  a  vigor  that 
astounded  her  and  kindled  her  to  a  wrath  that  astounded 
him.  They  were  waging  the  world-old  loathsome  Pin- 
money  War,  and  they  fought  it  with  young  enthusiasm. 

Daphne  and  her  mother  could  not  see  their  eyes,  but 
they  could  imagine  the  looks  in  them  as  they  confronted 
each  other.  Hearing  them,  one  would  have  thought  them 
almost  anything  but  a  couple  of  lovers  still  under  the 
authority  of  the  honeymoon. 

The  elder  Mrs.  Kip  was  reminded  of  her  own  quarrel- 
riddled  past  and  felt  a  great  pity  for  her  son  without 
feeling  any  for  her  husband.  Daphne  saw  in  the  quarrel 
a  warning  of  the  storms  ahead  of  her  and  Clay,  in  the 
future,  if  she  married  him  on  his  money. 

When  Leila  and  Bayard  had  exhausted  all  their  bile 
they  had  nothing  left  but  love;  so  they  fell  into  each 
other's  arms  in  mutual  affection  and  common  remorse. 
Leila  made  solemn  pledges  never  to  buy  anything  on 
credit  again,  and  Bayard  told  her  she  must  buy  herself 
anything  her  sweet  little  soul  wanted. 

Leila  had  an  inspiration:  "Give  me  an  allowance, 
hooey,  a  regular  allowance.  Then  we  won't  ever  quarrel 
again." 

"I  will!"  Bayard  snapped  at  this  suggestion,  and  peace 
poised  for  a  descent,  while  they  began  to  debate  on  the 
proper  amount  of  the  allowance. 

The  submission  of  both  of  them  to  such  a  combination 
of  pension  and  bribe  shocked  Daphne  worse  than  the 
quarrel.  She  resolved  again  not  to  place  herself  in  any 
such  sentimental  peonage. 

She  was  glad  that  Clay  Wimburn  had  quarreled  with 

1 68 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

her — and  over  something  besides  her  spending  of  his 
money.  She  had  taken  a  distrust  for  love.  Like  othei> 
forms  of  fire,  it  was  a  good  servant,  but  a  bad  master. 
Better  the  wages  of  heartless  strangers  than  the  depend- 
ence on  the  wanton  whims  of  affection.  She  might  not 
have  temperament,  but  perseverance  gained  more  battles, 
and  she  would  win  this  one.  She  would  succeed  on  the 
stage  in  spite  of  everybody. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  next  day  Batterson  telephoned  her  that  he 
had  called  a  rehearsal  with  the  company.  Daphne 
went  to  the  theater  in  terror.  The  stage  looked  utterly 
forlorn  with  the  actors  and  actresses  standing  about  in 
their  street  clothes.  Under  the  bright  lights  with  the 
people  made  up  and  the  audience  in  full  bloom,  like  a 
vast  garden,  there  would  be  impersonality  and  stimula- 
tion; but  the  present  scene  was  as  doleful  as  the  funeral 
of  an  unpopular  man. 

Courage  was  largely  a  matter  of  her  super-self  forcing 
her  reluctant  feet  forward.  A  soldier  ordered  to  leave  a 
bomb-proof  shelter  for  an  advance,  a  playground  of 
shrapnel,  has  just  the  struggle  with  his  vaso-motor  system 
that  Daphne  had  with  hers. 

Batterson  was  honestly  eager  to  be  disappointed  by 
her  unexpected  revelation  of  secret  abilities,  and  all  the 
company  wanted  her  to  be  a  genius,  if  only  for  the  sake  of 
their  own  time  and  stress. 

With  the  kindliest  smile  an  amiable  wolf  ever  wore, 
Batterson  invited  the  fluttering  lamb  to  come  to  the 
stream  and  drink.  Daphne  came  forward  in  a  trance 
and  heard  Batterson  say : 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen — Miss  Kip,  our  new  under- 
study. Give  her  all  the  help  you  can." 

Miss  Kemble  had  graciously  chosen  to  be  present  for 
that  purpose,  though  the  result  was  only  to  increase 
Daphne's  embarrassment.  An  imitation  in  the  presence 
of  the  living  model  was  a  double  load  to  carry. 

Miss  Kemble  went  forward  to  Daphne  and  took  her 

170 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

hand  and  petted  it  and  said:  "I'm  so  glad  to  see  you. 
You  are  a  positive  guarantee  of  good  health  for  me." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Daphne.  "But  I  don't  believe  I 
quite  understand." 

Miss  Kemble  laughed:  "The  rest  of  them  do.  Don't 
you  know  the  saying  that  a  pretty  understudy  keeps  a 
star  twinkling?  I'd  never  dare  be  ill,  with  you  waiting 
to  step  into  my  shoes  and  show  the  public  how  much 
better  you  are." 

"Oh,  Miss  Kemble!"  Daphne  gasped.  "An  angel 
couldn't  fill  your  shoes." 

"Are  they  as  big  as  that?"  said  Miss  Kemble,  and 
Daphne  was  worse  befuddled. 

"I  didn't  mean  that." 

"Of  course  you  didn't.  You  must  meet  my  aunt, 
Mrs.  Vining.  She  won't  object  to  your  playing  her  parts, 
I'm  sure." 

Mrs.  Vining,  who  had  played  all  manner  of  r61es  for 
half  a  century,  and  was  now  established  as  a  famous 
player  of  hateful  old  grandes  dames,  spared  Daphne  her 
ready  vinegar,  and  chose  to  mother  her. 

"I  got  my  start  the  way  you're  doing,  my  dear  child. 
Only,  I  wasn't  half  so  pretty,  and  I  made  a  miserable 
fluke  of  it.  Don't  let  anything  discourage  you,  and  if 
that  little  whipper-snapper  of  a  Batterson  bothers  you, 
just  signal  to  me  and  I'll  restore  him  to  his  place." 

Mr.  Reben  had  come  down  from  his  office  to  make  up 
his  own  mind.  He  smiled  with  a  kind  of  challenging 
cordiality,  and  murmured:  "So  our  little  business  woman 
is  going  to  open  the  shop.  Well,  all  you've  got  to  do  is 
to  deliver  the  goods  and  I'll  buy  'em  at  your  own  price." 

Batterson  rapped  on  the  kitchen  table  that  stood  on 
the  apron  of  the  stage  under  a  naked  bunch  light  of  glaring 
brilliance : 

"Places,  please,  for  the  entrance.    Ready?    All  right, 

Eldon!" 

171 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

The  noble  matine'e  idol  put  his  hat  on  a  table,  walked 
on,  sat  down  on  a  divan  composed  of  two  broken  chairs, 
and  read  an  imaginary  newspaper. 

Batterson  said:   "Door-bell!    Buzz-z-z." 

A  well-dressed  young  man,  whom  Daphne  recognized 
as  the  elderly  butler,  walked  across  and  opened  an  imag- 
inary door  between  two  chairs.  This  was  the  cue  for 
Miss  Kemble's  famous  "How  do  you  do?" 

Everybody  waited  and  watched  for  the  new-comer  to 
make  her  debut  in  the  new  world.  Everybody  heard  in 
imagination  the  purling  liquid  of  Sheila  Kemble's  de- 
licious tones,  always  the  same  at  every  night  and  matine'e 
and  always  as  fresh  and  warm  as  new  milk. 

Then  was  a  silence.  Daphne  stood  with  heels  screwed 
to  the  floor  and  tongue  glued  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth. 

"All  right,  Miss  Kip,"  said  Batterson,  with  ominous 
patience.  "Come  on,  come  on,  please!" 

Another  silence,  then  Daphne  laughed  and  choked. 
"I'm  awfully  stupid.  I've  forgotten  the  line." 

Batterson  gnashed  his  unlighted  cigar  and  growled: 
"Howjado!  Howjado!" 

"Oh  yes!  Thank  you.  I'm  so  sorry!"  said  Daphne,  and 
walked  on  at  the  wrong  side  of  the  chairs. 

Everybody  shuddered  to  realize  that  she  had  entered 
through  a  solid  wall.  This  miracle  was  ignored,  but 
there  was  no  ignoring  the  peculiarly  ineloquent  note  she 
struck  when  she  bowed  to  the  butler  and  stammered: 

"How  are  you?" 

A  sigh  went  through  the  vast  profound  and  void  of  the 
empty  theater.  Instinct  told  even  the  echoes  that 
Daphne  did  not  belong  and  never  could  belong.  Bat- 
terson groaned,  tragically: 

"Not  to  the  butler,  please!  Don't  say  'How  are 
you?'  to  the  butler.  Don't  say  'How  are  you?'  to  any- 
body, please.  Script  says  'Howjado?'  Say  'Howjado?' 
to  Mr.  Eldon  there.  Say  'Howjado?'  to  Mr.  Eldon 
there." 

173 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Daphne,  bowing  to  Eldon,  and 
speaking  with  a  soullessness  of  a  squeezed  doll. 

Eldon  rose,  folded  up  his  imaginary  paper,  and  came 
forward  with  a  pitying  desire  to  help  her.  He  had  gone 
through  her  agony,  had  suffered  the  slings  and  arrows 
of  outrageous  stage-managers,  had  once  by  a  blunder 
broken  up  a  performance  and  sent  a  large  audience 
into  spasms  of  ill-timed  laughter,  and  had  been  ordered 
never  to  ask  for  a  line  again.  This  very  Batterson 
who  admired  him  so  well  had  been  the  persecutor  and 
the  victim  of  his  inexperienced  youth.  But  now  Eldon 
had  arrived.  Batterson  was  proud  to  brag  of  him  as 
his  pupil.  Eldon  hoped  that  the  scared  little  Kip 
woman  would  win  through  the  same  bitter  trials  to  the 
same  perilous  and  always  endangered  success.  But  he 
had  a  fear. 

He  delivered  her  his  line  with  benevolent  gentleness. 
He  waited,  then  gave  her  her  line  with  exquisite  tact. 
She  did  not  repeat  it  after  him.  He  said  to  her: 

"Don't  be  afraid;   you're  all  right." 

He  gave  her  the  line  again  and  she  parroted  it  after 
him.  She  leaped  then  to  a  speech  several  minutes  farther 
on.  He  drew  her  back  to  the  cue: 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  think  I  have  a  line  before  that." 

The  rehearsal  blundered  on.  It  was  not  Daphne's 
fright  that  disturbed  the  rest.  It  was  her  complete  failure 
to  suggest  the  character,  or  any  character. 

The  roughest  diamond  flashes  where  it  is  cut.  The 
dullest  flint  gives  some  fire  where  it  is  smitten.  But 
Daphne  was  neither  diamond  nor  flint.  She  was  other 
things,  perhaps  more  useful  and  beautiful.  She  could 
glow,  too,  and  give  back  fire,  but  otherwise. 

The  play-folk  admired  her  beauty,  her  pluck,  her  shame- 
fast  modesty;  but  they  felt  that  she  was  in  the  wrong 
place.  Their  hearts  were  wrung  for  her,  but  their  artistic 
principles  were  violated,  and  they  watched  her  with  a 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

mixture  of  affection,  dismay,  and  irresistible  amusement. 
Blunders  are  the  original  source  of  laughter. 

But  Batterson  found  nothing  to  amuse  him,  and  Reben 
tasted  that  dust  and  ashes  of  disappointment  with  which 
theatrical  managers  are  so  familiar  when  they  bite  on  the 
Dead  Sea  fruit  of  beauty  without  dramatic  talent. 

The  worst  of  it  came  during  the  ardent  love  scene 
where  the  woman  pleaded  with  her  husband,  begged  him 
to  understand  that  her  career  was  not  in  conflict  with 
her  love,  but  longed  to  co-operate  with  it.  It  was  a 
problem  something  like  Daphne's  own;  like,  indeed,  the 
problem  of  increasing  myriads  of  women  who  wish  to 
have  both  the  home  and  the  world,  as  men  have  them 
both. 

Poor  Eldon  had  to  stand  the  brunt  of  the  scene.  He 
had  to  be  embraced  by  a  beautiful  girl  whom  a  total 
lack  of  the  instinct  of  impersonation  rendered  unbe- 
lievably awkward.  Batterson  had  to  come  forward  and 
drape  Daphne's  arms  about  Eldon  himself  to  place  them 
where  they  had  to  be.  One  would  have  thought  that 
she  had  never  embraced  anybody — not  even  her  father! 

A  complete  failure  of  memory  compelled  Daphne  to 
refer  again  and  again  to  the  part.  With  one  arm  crooked 
over  Eldon's  shoulder  she  would  turn  and  hunt  for  her 
lost  place  in  the  manuscript.  She  kept  thumbing  the 
pages  clumsily,  dropping  the  booklet,  scrambling  for  it  in 
contest  with  Eldon,  thanking  him,  finding  her  place,  and 
reading  a  line  of  tempestuous  passion  with  the  conviction 
of  a  terrified  school-girl  piping  her  first  recitation. 

Then  Eldon  would  miserably  groan  his  response  while 
the  less-tender  members  of  the  company  tiptoed  outside 
to  guffaw,  and  while  Batterson  turned  away  and  gnawed 
his  knuckles  in  a  rage,  like  Ugolino's  in  Inferno. 

Miss  Kemble  tried  to  help.  She  asked  Daphne  to  step 
aside  and  watch  while  she  went  through  the  scene.  But 
she  was  so  unnerved  that  she  forgot  her  own  lines  and 
had  to  refer  to  the  manuscript,  while  Eldon  waited  in 


THE  rehearsal  blundered  on.      Mrs.  Kemble  tried  1 
she  went  through  the  scene.      But  she  was  so  ui 
the  manuscript,  while  Eldon  waited  in  acute  distress  an 
stand  it  now," 


p.  She  asked  Daphne  to  step  aside  and  watch  while 
ved  that  she  forgot  her  own  lines  and  had  to  refer  to 
phne,  looking  on,  said;  "Oh,  I  see,  I  think  I  under- 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

acute  distress  and  Daphne,  looking  on,  said:  "Oh,  I  see. 
I  think  I  understand  it  now."  Then  she  forgot  it  all 
again  at  the  repetition.  Somehow  the  rehearsal  was 
worried  through  to  the  end  and  Batterson  dismissed  the 
company  with  sarcastic  thanks.  Then  he  went  to  Reben 
to  demand  a  substitute. 

Daphne  went  home,  dreading  her  fate,  but  not  knowing 
what  the  verdict  was.  She  felt  sure  that  it  would  be  not 
guilty  of  dramatic  ability.  She  was  worn  out  with  the 
exposure  of  her  own  faults,  and  uncertain  which  she 
feared  the  more:  to  be  dismissed  or  to  be  accepted.  The 
latter  meant  unending  trials. 

But  she  had  cut  herself  off  from  her  lover,  dismissed 
him  as  coldly  as  Reben  could  possibly  dismiss  her.  She 
was  in  very  great  need  of  some  one  to  lean  on,  of  some  one 
to  make  her  smile  and  to  praise  her  up  a  bit  from  the  dust. 

At  the  elevator  she  found  Tom  Duane.  He  had  just 
telephoned,  up  to  the  apartment  to  ask  if  she  were  in. 
There  was  a  welcome  flattery  in  his  frank  delight.  She 
asked  him  up.  When  they  reached  the  apartment  the 
maid  said  that  her  mother  and  Leila  were  both  out;  also, 
"a  Mr.  Abel  or  something"  had  telephoned  and  left  word 
that  she  should  call  him.  The  number  he  left  was 
Reben's. 

Daphne  was  sure  that  he  had  a  death-warrant  to  de- 
liver. She  put  off  the  blow.  She  wanted  a  few  minutes' 
respite. 

Tom  Duane  was  electric  with  cheer.  He  praised 
Daphne  with  inoffensive  heartiness  and  insisted  on  hearing 
the  history  of  her  progress.  She  gave  the  worst  possible 
account  of  her  stupidity.  He  would  have  none  of  her 
self-depreciation. 

"Everything's  got  to  begin,"  he  said.  "Some  of  the 
greatest  actors  are  bad  at  rehearsal,  and  never  get  over 
it.  Some  of  the  greatest  actresses  always  are  at  their 
worst  on  the  first  performance.  You're  bound  to  succeed. 

179 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

You  have  beauty  and  charm  and  grace  and  magnetism 
no  end.  Don't  worry.  I'll  speak  to  Reben  and  make 
him  restrain  Batterson.  We'll  make  a  star  of  you  yet." 

There  was  a  fine  reassurance  in  that  word  "we"  in 
spite  of  its  pleasant  tang  of  impudence.  It  gave  her 
strength  to  go  to  the  telephone  and  call  up  Reben.  She 
came  back  in  despair  and  collapsed  on  the  divan. 

Tom  Duane  was  at  her  side  instantly.  "You're  ill! 
In  Heaven's  name,  what  can  I  do?" 

His  solicitude  pleased  her.  She  smiled  palely:  "Mr. 
Reben  told  me  he  was  afraid  I'd  better  give  up  the  job. 
He  was  very  polite  and  awfully  sorry,  but  he  said  he 
didn't  think  I  was  quite  suited  to  the  work.  The  time 
was  so  short  that  he  had  to  engage  another  woman  of 
more  experience,  and  would  I  please  send  back  the  parts. 
He  said  that  later,  perhaps,  there  might  be  another 
chance,  but — oh — oh — oh!" 

She  was  crying  with  all  her  might.  She  had  worked 
hard  and  endured  much,  and  fought  her  people  and 
driven  her  lover  away,  only  to  be  cast  out  as  incompetent 
and  undesirable. 

Gradually  she  realized  that  Duane's  hands  were  on  her 
shoulders.  He  was  squeezing  them  as  if  to  keep  her  from 
sobbing  herself  to  pieces.  His  face  was  close  to  hers,  and 
he  was  murmuring: 

"You  poor  little  thing.  You  mustn't  grieve.  You're 
too  fine  and  too  beautiful  for  such  work." 

She  flung  herself  free.  "No,  no,  I'm  an  imbecile — I'm 
no  good — that's  all.  I'm  simply  no  good  to  myself  or 
any  one.  I  wanted  so  to  succeed!  but  I  can't!  I  can't! 
They  won't  even  give  me  a  chance." 

Those  big  hands  were  at  her  shoulders  again.  That 
soothing  voice  was  ministering  courage  and  praise: 

"You  are  not  no  good.  You  shall  succeed!  I'll  make 
Reben  take  you  back.  I've  helped  Reben  out  when  he 
was  in  trouble.  I've  lent  him  money  and  I'll  make  him 
give  you  your  chance.  I  promise  that,  on  my  word!" 

1 80 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  stared  at  him  through  her  tears.  They  blurred 
him  in  dancing  flashes  of  light  as  if  he  were  a  sun-god. 
She  caught  his  hands  from  her  shoulders,  but  she  had  to 
hold  them  in  hers.  She  was  drowning,  and  she  must 
cling  to  whatever  arms  stretched  down  to  her.  She  must 
not  question  whose  they  were  till  she  was  safe  again  on 
the  solid  earth. 

Duane  was  laughing  now  and  patting  her  on  the  back 
as  if  she  were  a  frightened  child.  She  felt  no  right  to 
rebuke  his  caresses.  They  were  such  as  a  brother  might 
give  a  sister.  His  arm  about  her  was  that  of  a  comrade, 
sustaining  another  in  a  battle. 

He  was  the  only  one  in  the  world  who  offered  her 
courage  and  praise  and  help  in  her  need. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ONSOLATION  is  a  dangerous  office  when  one  of  the 
parties  to  it  is  a  man  and  the  other  a  woman.  The 
more  sincere  the  grief  and  the  more  sincere  the  compas- 
sion, the  more  perilous  the  communion. 

Daphne's  grief  was  that  of  a  little  girl  whose  doll- 
house  has  fallen  apart,  and  Duane's  sympathy  was  that 
of  the  big  boy  who  will  glue  it  together  again.  But  he 
and  she  were  no  longer  children  and  she  was  in  love  with 
another  man — all  the  more  bound  to  Clay  Wimburn  from 
the  fact  that  they  had  quarreled  and  the  visible  gold  bond 
was  gone.  Yet  Daphne  could  not  impute  mean  motives 
to  Duane  in  the  face  of  his  offer  to  regain  her  lost  oppor- 
tunity for  her. 

And,  indeed,  Duane's  motives  were  of  the  noblest.  It 
would  have  been  outrageous  to  criticize  them. 

But  Duane's  heart  was  as  susceptible  as  a  rake's  heart 
usually  is.  He  was  cynical  toward  women's  tears,  as  a 
rule,  because  he  had  found  them  selfish,  or  the  result  of 
wounded  vanity  or  of  frustrated  selfishness.  The  cynic 
surprised  from  an  unexpected  angle,  however,  is  the  most 
ingenuous  of  men. 

It  was  a  new  sensation  to  Duane  to  find  a  girl  crying 
because  she  was  thwarted  in  nothing  more  selfish  than 
her  wish  to  be  independent  for  the  relief  of  others  and 
her  willingness  to  work  hard  for  her  own  support.  He 
knew  that  there  was  no  personal  conceit  in  Daphne's 
ambition,  no  hankering  to  publish  her  beauty  to  a  max- 
imum circulation  of  admirers.  She  wanted  to  pay  her 
own  way,  and  luck  refused  her  the  privilege. 

182 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Duane  had  seen  enough  of  the  theater  to  know  how 
peculiarly  cruel  its  disappointments  are  to  the  super- 
sensitive  beings  that  people  it.  Daphne  was  the  latest 
and  most  blameless  victim  of  its  conditions. 

He  had  promised  her  to  be  her  good  friend  and  omit 
flirtatious  advances.  Even  when  she  broke  down  and 
cried  he  restrained  his  impetuous  hands.  But  at  length 
they  had  to  go  out  to  her.  He  embraced  her  as  a  pitiful 
fellow-creature  in  defeat.  But  once  she  was  in  his  arms 
she  proved  to  be  also  a  very  warm,  round,  sleek,  beautiful, 
caressable  young  woman. 

She  welcomed  his  embrace  at  first  because  it  upheld 
her  at  a  moment  when  her  heart  was  reeling  like  a  shot 
bird.  But  once  she  had  taken  his  hands  with  grateful 
enthusiasm,  he  became  more  than  the  heroic  rescuer,  the 
gentle  consoler — he  became  the  strong,  clean,  warm,  at- 
tractive power  that  he  was. 

Duane  was  no  Greek  god  and  had  not  the  look  of  one, 
but  he  was  what  is  still  more  dangerous  among  the  un- 
Grecian  women  to-day — a  magnetic,  polished,  tactful  man 
of  the  world.  The  Greek  gods  of  our  time  seem  to  have 
drifted  toward  female  impersonation  or  costume  dancing. 

Daphne's  self-respect  and  Duane's  respect  for  her 
might  speedily  have  dissolved  their  embrace,  though  it 
would  have  left  them  in  a  mood  of  mutual  tenderness. 
But  suddenly  they  heard  a  door  closed  and  they  started 
apart  guiltily. 

With  a  great  shock  they  both  realized  how  it  would 
look  to  an  interloper  to  find  them  clinging  to  each  other. 
No  outsider  could  realize  the  actual  situation  and  the 
gradual  steps  that  had  brought  them  together.  Any 
attempt  to  explain  would  seem  ridiculous  and  hypo- 
critical. 

It  was  neither  Leila  nor  Mrs.  Kip  that  closed  the  door. 
Nor  was  it  the  curious  maid.  She  was  so  busily  making 
ready  for  an  evening  out  with  her  young  man  that  she  had 
no  time  even  to  eavesdrop.  The  door  was  closed  by  a 

183 


breeze  that  had  come  spiraling  up  around  the  building  and 
rushed  into  another  room. 

A  fatalist  would  have  said  that  the  zephyr  was  a 
divinely  sent  messenger  for  the  rescue  of  two  good  souls 
from  being  too  good  to  each  other.  Whatever  the  ex- 
planation, the  result  was  a  rescue. 

The  shock  of  the  door  blown  shut  startled  Daphne  as 
if  Clay  Wimburn  had  appeared  and  fired  a  bullet. 

It  was  a  tonic  shock,  however. 

Duane  and  Daphne  stood  for  a  moment,  trembling  with 
dread  of  the  opinion  of  the  imaginary  intruder.  When 
they  understood  that  they  had  not  been  observed  they 
laughed  foolishly.  The  spell  was  broken.  But  they  had 
been  warned.  They  regretted  that  a  man  and  a  woman 
might  not  put  their  arms  across  each  other's  shoulders  as 
two  men  might  in  good-comradeship.  But  they  realized 
that  it  was  not  permissible. 

Duane  said,  with  a  matter-of-fact  briskness:  "I'll  call 
Reben  up  at  once.  No,  I'll  go  see  him." 

"  But  you  put  me  under  such  obligations.    I'm  afraid — " 

"Never  be  afraid  of  an  obligation." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can  never  repay  it." 

"Then  you're  one  ahead.  But  you  can  repay  me,  and 
you  will." 

"How?" 

"Let's  wait  and  see.    Good-by.     Don't  worry." 

He  gave  her  a  hand-grip  of  perfect  good-fellowship  and 
went  into  the  hall.  She  followed  him  to  tell  him  again 
how  kind  he  was.  As  she  was  clasping  his  hand  again 
Leila  opened  the  door  with  her  latch-key. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

NOW  there  was  triple  embarrassment.    Tom  Duane 
had  paid  ardent  court  to  Leila  before  she  married 
Bayard.     Here  he  was  in  Bayard's  wife's  home,  appar- 
ently flirting  with  Bayard's  young  sister. 

Leila  felt  all  the  outraged  sentiments  of  jealousy  and  all 
the  indignation  of  a  chaperon  who  has  been  circumvented. 
Duane  and  Daphne  knew  exactly  what  she  was  thinking, 
but  dared  not  acknowledge  her  unspoken  rebuke,  even 
to  answer  it. 

Duane  retreated  in  poor  order.  Daphne  stammered  an 
explanation  too  brief  and  muddled  to  suffice.  Then  she 
went  to  her  room. 

There  her  mother  found  her  when  she  came  in  later. 
Daphne  had  only  a  faint  hope  that  Duane  could  work 
his  miracle  twice,  so  she  told  her  mother  that  she  had 
failed  as  an  actress.  She  told  her,  bluntly: 

"Mamma,  I've  been  fired." 

To  her  comfort,  her  mother  caught  her  to  her  ample 
bosom  and  said:  "I'm  glad  of  it.  I'm  much  obliged  to 
whoever  is  to  blame.  Not  but  what  you  could  have  suc- 
ceeded if  you  had  kept  at  it.  But  you're  too  good  for 
such  a  wicked  life.  A  person  couldn't  be  an  actor  without 
being  insincere  and  a  pretender;  and  my  little  girl  is  too 
honest.  So  now  you  come  along  home  with  me." 

"No,  thank  you,  mamma." 

"  You  just  must.  I  was  hoping  to  get  started  to-night, 
but  I  can't,  so  we'll  go  to  a  hotel  till  to-morrow." 

"Go  to  a  hotel?" 

"To  a  hotel!    Do  you  suppose  I'd  spend  another  day 

185 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

under  this  roof  after  what  Leila  said  about  me  last 
night?" 

The  superb  acoustics  worked  both  ways,  and  Leila 
heard  that  she  had  been  heard.  She  dashed  into  the 
room  to  disclaim  any  malice  and  to  insist  on  Mrs.  Kip's 
remaining  forever. 

Mrs.  Kip  tried  to  be  majestically  lofty,  but  Leila 
would  not  be  rebuffed.  She  pulled  Mrs.  Kip's  arms 
about  her  and,  holding  her  tight,  insisted  on  being  for- 
given. At  length  Mrs.  Kip  relented  and  took  her  daugh- 
ter-in-law back  into  as  much  of  her  good  graces  as  a 
daughter-in-law  has  a  right  to  expect.  She  consented  to 
stay  the  one  more  night,  but  she  insisted  that  she  must  go 
back  to  Cleveland  the  next  day.  She  painted  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  ruin  into  which  her  neglected  home  was 
undoubtedly  falling.  She  said  that  Daphne  would  go 
back  with  her,  but  Daphne  said,  "No." 

Mrs.  Kip  had  gathered  herself  together  for  a  vigorous 
assault  when  the  telephone  rang  and  the  maid  brought 
word  that  a  gent 'man  wished  to  speak  with  Miss  Daphne. 

It  was  Duane,  and  she  braced  herself  for  another  blow. 
But  his  voice  was  clarion  with  success. 

"I've  seen  Reben.  It's  all  right.  He's  promised  to 
keep  you  on  and  give  you  a  chance.  He  says  for  you  to 
report  at  the  theater  at  seven-thirty  to-night." 

And  now  again  Daphne  was  more  afraid  of  her  success, 
such  as  it  was,  than  of  her  failure.  But  it  was  pleasant 
to  carry  the  news  to  her  mother  and  Leila. 

It  disgusted  them  both.  They  were  still  trying  to  dis- 
suade her  from  continuing  on  the  downward  path  when  a 
telegram  from  her  father  came  for  her  mother: 

Taking  beaver  arrive  Grand  Central  tomorrow  don't  meet 
me  love,  WES. 

He  had  spent  several  minutes  of  literary  labor  in  getting 
it  all  into  the  ten  words.  He  had  controlled  his  own  im- 
pulse to  waste  a  few  pennies  for  his  own  ease,  but  he  had 

186 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

not  refused  to  spend  many  dollars  in  answering  his  wife's 
call  for  help. 

The  word  "beaver"  puzzled  them  till  Bayard  came 
home  and  explained  that  it  was  the  name  of  an  ex- 
press train  leaving  Cleveland  at  four-thirty-five  in  the 
afternoon  and  reaching  New  York  at  seven-fifty  in  the 
morning. 

Bayard  was  late,  as  usual,  and  Leila's  temper  had  just 
begun  to  simmer  when  the  door  was  opened  stealthily 
and  a  hand  was  thrust  in.  It  proffered  a  small  box  of 
jeweler's  size  and  waved  it  like  a  flag  of  truce. 

Leila  rushed  forward  with  a  cry  of  delight, ( seized  the 
packet  and  then  the  hand,  and  drew  Bayard  into  the  room 
and  into  her  arms. 

"This  is  your  apology,  I  suppose,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  the  apology  for  being  late,  and  that's  what  made 
me  late." 

Leila  was  enraptured.  She  adored  gifts  and  she  had 
the  knack  of  inspiring  them.  Bayard  lacked  the  native 
instinct  for  paying  tribute.  He  was  not  by  nature  one 
of  those  charming  souls  that  always  bring  flowers  or 
candies  or  some  trinket  when  they  call.  Leila  was  training 
him  for  that  class. 

The  little  square  parcel  provoked  her  curiosity.  It 
might  contain  anything  from  a  diamond  sunburst  down  to 
a  silver  stick-pin.  She  tore  the  paper  off  and  opened 
the  pasteboard  box  and  seized  out  a  little  velvet  casket 
of  glowing  promise. 

She  opened  this  so  excitedly  that  the  contents  fell  to 
the  floor.  She  swooped  for  them  and  brought  up  a 
platinum  chain  with  a  delicate  plaque  of  tiny  diamonds 
and  pearls  on  a  device  of  platinum. 

Her  face  was  flushed  from  the  swoop  and  from  her 
delight,  and  her  eyes  had  the  baleful  glitter  of  diamonds. 
She  kissed  the  jewelry,  then  pounced  on  Bayard  with  a 
swoop  of  gratitude.  She  was  exceedingly  beautiful  in 

187 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

her  flaming  exultance,  and  Bayard  was  proud  of  her  and 
of  his  ability  to  enhance  her  beauty. 

Leila  ran  to  Mrs.  Kip  and  Daphne,  exclaiming:  "Aren't 
they  beautiful?  Aren't  they  wonderful?  Aren't  they 
glorious?" 

Mrs.  Kip  and  Daphne  tried  to  keep  the  pace,  but  once 
more  they  could  not  forget  who  it  was  that  was  raining 
gold  down  on  this  greedy  stranger.  Their  alarm  was  not 
diminished  when  Bayard  said  to  Leila: 

"You're  not  the  only  one  who  can  open  accounts.  I 
started  one  for  those." 

Leila  was  delighted  at  hearing  this,  which  should  have 
frightened  her.  But  Daphne  caught  another  of  her 
lightning-flash  glimpses  of  the  relations  of  men  and 
women.  Being  herself  a  wage-earner-elect,  though,  she 
kept  silence.  She  was  only  demanding  of  the  world ! 

"What  right  has  that  woman  who  does  not  work  to 
accept  the  crazy  extravagance  or  rebuke  the  sober  in- 
dustry of  that  hard-working  man?  What  right  has  she 
to  criticize  his  hours?  What  right  has  any  woman  to  the 
submissive  homage  and  the  tax-paying  tributes  of  any 
man?  Why  is  any  man  fool  enough  to  pay  a  woman 
a  high  salary  for  being  pretty  and  lazy  and  hard  to 
please?" 

Those  were  her  thoughts,  but  her  words  were  politely 
enthusiastic. 

Bayard  was  not  yet  done  with  his  efforts  to  placate  the 
graceful  idol  he  had  niched  in  his  life.  He  took  from  his 
pocket  a  pale  brochure  and  said  to  Leila: 

"That  allowance,  we  agreed  on,  you  know?" 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"Well,  instead  of  paying  it  to  you  week  by  week  I 
decided  to  open  a  bank  account  for  you;  so  I  ran  over  to 
this  bank  at  the  lunch  hour  and  made  a  deposit  to  your 
credit — five  hundred  dollars!" 

Leila  forgot  her  jewelry  for  the  moment  in  this  new 
pride.  She  strutted  about  with  mock  hauteur,  waving 

188 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Mrs.  Kip  and  Daphne  aside,  and  saying:  "Don't  speak 
to  me.  I  am  a  lady  with  a  bank  account." 

Mrs.  Kip  sighed  in  dreary  earnest,  "That's  more  than 
I  ever  was." 

"IH  start  you  a  bank  account,  mother,"  said  Bayard, 
"as  soon  as  I  get  a  little  further  ahead."  He  meant  it, 
and  she  was  glad  that  he  meant  it,  but  she  knew  that  at 
the  present  rate  he  would  be  a  long  while  getting  a  little 
ahead.  He  was  making  rapid  progress  to  the  rear. 

All  his  soul  was  devoted  to  pleasing  this  creature,  about 
whom  there  was  nothing  extraordinary  except  Bayard's 
infatuation  for  her.  Leila  was  poring  over  her  bank-book, 
the  blank  pages  in  which  so  many  dramas,  tragedies,  a«d 
life  histories  could  be  codified  in  bald  numerals. 

Her  first  question  was  ominous:  "Do  I  have  to  go  all 
the  way  down  to  Broad  Street  every  time  I  want  to  draw 
out  some  money  ?" 

Her  first  thought  was  already  to  attack  the  integrity 
of  her  store! 

"No,  dearest,"  said  Bayard,  "there  is  an  up-town 
branch,  right  around  the  comer.  But  I  hope  your  visits 
there  win  be  more  for  put-in  than  take-out." 

"That  depends  on  how  much  you  give  me,"  Leila 
smiled. 

"She's  a  born  grafter,"  Bayard  said,  with  a  rather  dif- 
ficult laugh. 

She  meditated,  and  asked,  with  her  kind  of  earnestness, 
"Honestly,  hooey,  how  long  ought  five  hundred  to  last — 
in  New  York?"  ' 

"Forever,"  said  Bayard.  "It's  only  a  nest-egg.  I 
want  it  to  grow  and  grow.  Every  time  I  give  you  any- 
thing I  want  yon  to  put  some  of  it  aside.  Maybe  some 
day  111  want  to  borrow  some  of  it  for  a  while.  Maybe  you 
can  save  me  from  a  crash  some  day.  Anyhow,  it  win 
be  a  great  help  to  me  to  fed  that  I  have  a  thrifty  Htde 
wife  at  home.  A  man  has  to  plunge  a  good  deal  in  busi- 
ness. It's  his  wife  that  usually  makes  bin  or  breaks  him," 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Leila  did  not  rise  to  the  honor  he  thrust  upon  her. 
She  dodged  behind  her  own  character:  ''Better  not  count 
too  much  on  me.  I  never  could  save.  Daddy  and 
mamma  both  tried  a  dozen  times  to  teach  me.  But  they 
never  knew  how  themselves." 

"You  must  learn,  honey,"  Bayard  pleaded.  "It's  the 
most  important  thing  you  have  to  learn.  You've  got 
beauty  and  charm  and  everything  delightful.  You  ought 
to  be  able  to  learn  this  one  thing." 

"All  right,  I'll  try,"  she  murmured,  toying  with  the 
jewelry. 

Bayard  studied  her  and  felt  afraid.  He  spoke  with  un- 
usual solemnity:  "Old  Ben  Franklin  said,  'A  shilling 
earned,  and  sixpence  spent,  a  fortune.  Sixpence  earned, 
and  a  shilling  spent,  bankruptcy' — or  something  like  that. 
But  Moses  got  ahead  of  him.  When  he  handed  down  the 
Ten  Commandments  he  whispered  an  extra  one  to  be  the 
private  secret  of  the  chosen  people." 

"What  was  that?"  said  Leila,  with  aminimum  of  interest. 

"Thou  shalt  not  spend  all  thou  earnest,"  said  Bayard. 
"It  was — well,  it  was  the  thirteenth  commandment,  I 
guess:  a  mighty  unlucky  one  to  break.  The  Jews  have 
kept  it  pretty  well.  They've  been  the  bankers  of  the 
world  even  while  they  were  persecuted." 

Leila  shrugged  her  handsome  shoulders  and  studied  the 
gems. 

Bayard  went  on:  "I'll  go  out  and  earn  the  money  if 
you'll  stay  home  and  try  to  save  it.  It's  hard  for  the 
same  person  to  do  both.  But  with  a  little  team-play  now 
we  can  be  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crcesus  in  our  old  age." 

That  was  an  unfortunate  choice  of  words.  Leila  was 
not  interested  in  her  old  age.  She  said : 

"  Of  course  I'll  help  you  all  I  can,  but  I'm  afraid  I'm  not 
much  good  as  a  miser.  The  nicest  thing  about  this  bank 
account  is  that  I  won't  have  to  nag  you  every  time  I 
want  some  cash.  It's  so  humiliating  for  people  who  love 
each  other  to  be  always  discussing  money." 

IQO 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Money  is  a  big  part  of  love,"  Bayard  began,  "and  one 
of  the  best  ways  a  woman  can  show  her  affection  for  her 
husband  is  by  being  tender  of  his  money.  They  are  the 
most  sensitive  part  of  his  feelings." 

His  sermon  would  have  been  more  effective  if  it  had  not 
been  inspired  by  his  own  mistake:  it  was  a  temperance 
lecture,  punctuated  with  hiccoughs.  Leila  ended  it  with 
a  little  grimace  of  disgust. 

"But  let's  not  talk  about  it  to-night.  Let's  dine 
somewhere  and  go  to  the  theater.  I  want  to  show  off 
my  new  splendor." 

"Fine!"  said  Bayard,  trying  to  cast  away  his  forebod- 
ings and  lift  himself  by  his  own  boot-straps.  "Get  on 
your  duds,  mother,  you  and  Daphne." 

"I  can't  go,"  said  Daphne.  "I've  got  to  be  at  the 
fun-factory  at  half  past  seven  and  I've  hardly  time  to  eat 
anything." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WHILE  Leila  and  Bayard  and  Mrs.  Kip  were  putting 
on  their  festal  robes  Daphne  was  eating  alone  a 
hasty  meal  brought  up  tardily  from  the  restaurant. 

Before  they  were  dressed  she  had  to  march  out  in  what 
she  called  her  working-clothes.  The  hall-man  ran  to  call 
her  a  taxicab,  but  she  shook  her  head.  Her  humble 
twenty-five  dollars  a  week  would  not  justify  a  chariot  to 
and  from  the  shop. 

She  walked  rapidly  along  Fifty-ninth  Street,  but  not 
rapidly  enough  to  escape  one  or  two  murmurous  gallants. 
She  boarded  a  Broadway  street-car  at  Seventh  Avenue 
and  dropped  her  nickel  in  the  box  with  a  strange  sense  of 
plebeianism.  It  was  at  one  of  the  still  hours  of  New 
York  life  when  the  current  of  the  traffic  pauses  between 
ebb  and  flow.  The  home-going  tide  was  ended  and  the 
outgoing  flood  to  the  theaters  had  not  begun. 

Daphne  felt  gray  and  mousy,  cowering  alone  in  a  corner 
of  the  car,  but  a  passenger  opposite  stared  at  her  so  per- 
sistently and  minutely  that  her  flesh  fairly  ached  under  his 
eyes.  There  was  no  escaping  his  inspection;  no  glaring 
him  down.  At  length  she  remembered  a  bit  of  advice  she 
had  read  somewhere  and  began  to  gaze  at  the  feet  of  her 
persecutor,  to  study  them  as  he  studied  her,  only  with  a 
cynical  smile. 

The  scheme  worked  to  perfection.  The  ogler  began  to 
fidget,  to  cross  and  shift  his  brogans;  finally  to  examine 
them.  At  length  he  let  them  carry  him  out  of  the  car. 

Daphne  was  glad  of  the  new  weapon,  but  it  seemed  to  be 
at  best  a  frail  and  uncertain  defense.  A  few  blocks 

192 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

farther  on  she  rose  to  get  out.  The  conductor  carried  her 
past  her  corner.  She  descended  in  a  swirl  of  cabs  and 
suffered  two  or  three  narrow  escapes  from  injury  or  death 
before  she  reached  the  sidewalk. 

Then  she  hastened  with  bent  head  through  the  pitiless 
sheen  of  Broadway  as  if  she  were  running  a  gantlet. 
Other  solitary  women  were  sauntering  the  street  at  their 
trade.  The  only  visible  distinction  between  them  and 
Daphne  was  a  matter  of  haste. 

Daphne  turned  a  corner  into  a  dark  street  and  found 
the  stage  entrance  of  the  Odeon  Theater.  The  decrepit 
doorkeeper  recognized  her  and  let  her  pass.  She  had  no 
dressing-room  to  go  to  and  did  not  know  what  she  was 
expected  to  do.  Batterson  was  lost  in  a  big  box  scene 
the  stage-hands  were  constructing.  She  tried  to  find  him, 
and  was  extraordinarily  successful  in  getting  in  the  way  of 
every  racing  canvas. 

She  found  Batterson  quarreling  with  a  property-man 
over  the  responsibility  for  a  broken  vase.  He  ignored  her 
till  at  length  she  ventured  to  stammer: 

"Here  I  am,  Mr.  Batterson." 

"So  I  see.    Well,  sit  down  somewhere." 

Finding  a  seat  was  no  easy  task.  Every  piece  of 
furniture  she  selected  became  at  once  the  object  of  the 
scene-shifters'  attack,  and  she  had  to  take  flight. 

Members  of  the  company  strolled  in,  paused  at  the 
mail-box,  and  went  to  their  various  cells. 

Eventually  Batterson  found  that  all  the  company  was 
on  hand  and  in  good  health.  He  said  to  Daphne,  "  Every- 
body is  here  and  nobody  sick,  so  you  needn't  stay  after 
the  curtain  goes  up." 

But  she  wanted  to  learn  her  trade,  so  she  loitered  about, 
feeling  like  an  uninvited  poor  relation.  The  members  of 
the  company  came  from  their  lairs,  looking  odd  and  unreal 
in  their  paint.  They  seemed  to  be  surprised  that  Daphne 
was  still  in  existence.  Eldon  gave  her  a  curious  smile  of 
greeting. 

7  193 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  heard  the  call-boy  crying  "Overture"  about  the 
corridors.  She  heard  the  orchestra  playing  "the  King's 
piece."  Then  it  struck  up  a  march  that  sounded  remote 
and  irrelevant.  There  was  a  loud  swish  which  she  sup- 
posed to  be  the  curtain  going  up.  An  actor  and  an 
actress  in  white  flannels  with  tennis-rackets  under  their 
arms  linked  hands  and  skipped  into  the  well  of  light. 
They  bandied  repartee  for  a  time.  Then  a  smiling  actor 
in  butler's  livery  grew  very  solemn  and  marched  on  the 
stage  stiffly. 

Eldon,  speaking  earnestly  to  Mrs.  Vining,  suddenly  be- 
gan to  laugh  softly.  He  laughed  louder  and  louder  and 
then  plunged  into  the  light. 

By  and  by  Miss  Kemble  hurried  from  her  dressing-room, 
her  maid  in  pursuit  handing  her  her  handkerchief  and  a 
fan.  She  was  in  great  distress,  and  told  the  maid  to  run 
out  and  telephone.  She  paused  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Vining, 
who  asked,  softly: 

"How  is  the  kiddie?" 

"Not  so  well  to-day." 

Her  painted  face  was  taut  with  anxiety.  Yet  suddenly 
she  shook  her  head  as  if  to  scatter  gloom,  moistened  her 
lips,  glanced  over  her  costume,  and  entered  a  door. 
There  was  a  sound  as  of  rain  on  a  roof — the  audience 
greeting  its  faithful  servant.  Then  Daphne  heard  that 
magic  voice  giving  its  strange  felicity  to  that  wonderful, 
"How  d'you  do?" 

She  marveled  at  the  brain  that  could  accomplish  such 
mechanical  perfection  and  give  perennial  freshness  to  the 
same  cheap  material  with  unfailing  regularity.  The  har- 
rowed mother  in  the  wings  became  the  mischievous  girl 
on  the  stage  by  some  abracadabra  that  Daphne  could 
not  grasp.  Sheila  was  delighting  the  house.  Muffled 
thunders  followed  nearly  every  line  of  hers. 

A  little  later  Eldon  came  off  the  stage,  laughing.  He 
dropped  his  laughter  as  he  crossed  the  border  and  resumed 
his  anecdote.  "As  I  was  saying — 

194 


SHE  wondered  why  she  had  entered  upon  this  un- 
natural life.     If  she  had  sought  admiration  and 
fame  she  had  not  found  them,  for  she  sat  alone  in  an 
isolated  window. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

But  Mrs.  Vining  interrupted:  "There  comes  my  cue. 
How  are  They  to-night?" 

1 '  Rather  cold, ' '  said  Eldon ;  "  it's  so  hot ." 

"The  swine!"  said  Mrs.  Vining.  Then  she  shook  out 
her  skirts,  straightened  up,  and  swept  through  the  door 
like  a  dowager  swan. 

One  of  the  box  lights  began  to  sputter,  and  Batterson 
dashed  round  from  the  other  wing  to  curse  the  man  in 
charge.  He  ran  into  Daphne,  glared,  and  spoke  harshly: 
"You  needn't  wait  any  longer." 

Daphne  swallowed  her  pride  and  slunk  out. 

Broadway  was  dull  again.  The  mobs  that  had  rolled 
down  the  canon  were  housed  in  the  theaters.  Daphne 
was  so  restless  that  she  ventured  to  squander  a  taxicab 
fare.  The  driver  she  beckoned  to  the  curb  had  the  look  of 
a  brigand  and  he  skirted  street-cars  and  other  motors  with 
a  sickening  recklessness.  As  they  neared  Central  Park 
Daphne  felt  sure  that  he  would  dash  on  into  its  black  forest 
with  her  and  murder  her  in  some  dark  ravine.  He  could 
so  easily.  She  was  not  so  enthusiastic  about  the  privilege 
of  being  free  of  escort  as  she  had  thought  she  would  be. 

But  the  brigand  deposited  her  at  her  door  and  accepted 
her  ten-cent  tip  with  a  shy,  sweet  smile. 

The  apartment  was  deserted;  the  maid  was  out.  Lone- 
liness shrouded  her.  She  imagined  that  she  was  a  poor 
young  actress  stranded  in  a  small  hotel.  New  York  had 
a  village  look  at  this  point,  and  the  uncrowded  streets 
confirmed  the  likeness.  She  sat  at  the  open  window  and 
stared  down  into  Columbus  Circle.  Only  the  electric 
lights  were  busy.  They  blinked  and  darkled;  words  were 
spelled  out  a  letter  at  a  time,  and  erased  with  gloom. 
Pictures  were  drawn  in  running  lights.  Figures  popped 
into  view  and  were  extinguished.  All  these  electric  giants 
were  at  work  for  the  pigmy  humans  in  the  Circle.  The 
street-cars  came  and  went,  swerving  round  the  monument. 
An  unceasing  stream  of  taxicabs  made  a  wide  eddy  and 

197 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

sped  up  or  down  Broadway.  Many  people  were  going 
many  places,  but  nobody  was  looking  for  Daphne. 

She  wondered  why  she  had  entered  upon  this  un- 
natural life.  If  she  had  sought  admiration  and  fame  she 
had  not  found  them,  for  she  sat  alone  in  an  isolated 
window.  She  had  alienated  those  who  loved  her  without 
gaining  a  new  friend,  unless  Tom  Duane  were  one,  and 
she  was  not  sure  of  him,  whether  he  were  friend  or  enemy. 

She  was  neither  a  working-woman  nor  a  lady.  She 
was  a  foolish,  forlorn  girl  whom  nobody  approved  and 
nobody  understood. 

She  left  the  window  and  tried  to  study,  to  walk  through 
her  lines,  but  her  distaste  for  them  was  like  a  nausea. 
She  spun  the  victrola,  gave  it  up  for  a  book — a  novel, 
about  a  man  and  a  woman  on  a  desert  island.  She  felt 
that  she  was  the  woman  and  New  York  the  island,  and  the 
man  was — 

She  was  awakened  by  the  return  of  the  family.  They 
were  all  very  gorgeous  and  they  had  had  a  joyous  time. 
They  told  her  that  she  had  "missed  it"  and  that  she  was 
a  fool  to  work  when  she  did  not  have  to.  She  agreed  with 
them. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

BUT  if  night  brings  counsel,  morning  brings  action. 
She  woke  early  again.  It  was  just  six  o'clock. 
Daylight  filled  the  room  and  it  seemed  ridiculous  to  lie 
asleep. 

The  street-cars  and  the  traffic  down  below  resounded 
like  a  brass  band  playing  a  quick  march.  She  rose  and 
went  to  the  window.  The  scene  was  the  same,  but  the 
soul  was  entirely  altered;  so  vast  a  difference  there  was  in 
spirit  between  blue  moonlight  and  morning  amber. 

She  remembered  that  her  father  would  be  arriving  in 
two  hours.  She  decided  that  it  would  be  a  pleasant  duty 
to  surprise  the  poor,  old,  neglected  codger  by  meeting 
him. 

She  bathed  and  dressed  and  took  the  subway.  Here 
under  the  ground  the  tube  was  full  of  people  scurrying  to 
their  jobs.  There  were  women  innumerable.  Daphne 
was  not  the  first  woman  to  be  earning  her  living.  Among 
the  business  women  in  her  car  were  some  who  were  sleepy- 
eyed  and  sullen  with  regrets  of  the  night  before.  Some 
of  them  were  already  alert  for  flirtation,  trying  all  the 
men's  eyes,  willing,  ready  to  fence  just  for  practice. 
Business  had  not  robbed  these  at  least  of  their  primeval 
femininity. 

At  the  Grand  Central  station  Daphne  was  knocked 
about  by  the  crowds  plunging  from  the  local  train  to  a 
waiting  express,  and  others  dashing  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

She  found  that  she  was  nearly  an  hour  too  early  for 
the  train.  It  amused  her  to  take  her  breakfast  at  the 

199 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

lunch-counter,  to  clamber  on  the  high  stool  and  eat  the 
dishes  of  haste — a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  ham  sandwich.  It 
was  pleasant  to  wander  about  alone  in  this  atmosphere  of 
speed,  the  suburban  trains,  like  feed-pipes,  spouting 
streams  of  workers,  the  out-bound  trains  drawing  their 
passengers  to  far-off  destinies  as  if  by  suction. 

It  was  going  to  be  a  hot  day.  There  was  a  menace  in 
the  air,  a  sting  of  humidity;  the  heat  had  a  whip-lash  to 
it  that  would  sting  and  bite. 

Daphne  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  army  of  workers.  She 
thought  of  the  shops  and  of  the  women  who  would  spend 
there  the  earnings  of  these  driven  hordes.  She  was  glad 
that  she  was  no  longer  one  of  the  loafers.  Her  poor 
father  would  not  have  to  toil  for  her  any  more. 

At  length  it  was  time  for  his  train.  She  watched  at  the 
bulletin-board  till  the  track  number  was  announced  and 
reiterated  throughout  the  station  by  the  megaphones  that 
gave  the  walls  speech.  Daphne  went  to  the  rope  barrier 
opposite  the  door  of  entry  for  that  train  and  waited  in 
ambush  for  her  father. 

A  regiment  of  mixed  souls  marched  up  the  platform. 
She  recognized  a  few  of  her  Cleveland  friends;  but  did  not 
call  to  them. 

At  length  she  made  out  a  rather  shabby  man  carrying 
his  own  luggage.  It  was  her  father.  He  looked  older  and 
seedier  than  she  remembered.  He  did  not  expect  to  be 
met.  He  was  looking  idly  at  the  new  station.  He  had 
not  been  to  New  York  since  it  had  been  thrown  open. 

He  stared  up  at  the  golden  zodiac,  and  marveled  at 
the  people  walking,  as  if  in  air,  on  the  glass  corridors  along 
the  vast  windows. 

There  was  something  quaint  and  rural  about  her  father 
and  about  his  upstaring  awkwardness  that  struck  Daphne 
as  never  before.  But  she  saw  that  he  had  been  through 
great  trouble.  That  dignified  him.  She  felt  glad  again 
that  she  was  to  do  something  to  lighten  his  burden.  She 
ran  to  him.  He  dropped  his  old  suit-case  on  the  toes  of 

5?  op 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  man  following  him  and  embraced  Daphne  with  fervor. 
He  devoured  her  with  his  eyes  and  kissed  her  again  and 
told  her  that  she  was  prettier  than  ever.  All  about  them 
there  were  little  groups  embracing  and  kissing.  There 
was  a  wonderful  business  in  reunions. 

When  her  father  said,  "I  haven't  had  my  breakfast. 
Have  you?"  she  lied  affectionately,  "No." 

"Let's  have  breakfast  together." 

"Fine,"  said  Daphne.     "We'll  go  to  the  Biltmore." 

"Kind  of  expensive,  isn't  it?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"It's  my  treat,"  she  said. 

This  amused  him  enormously.  He  guffawed  and,  pick- 
ing up  his  baggage,  started  on. 

"I'm  going  to  treat  you  to  a  redcap,  too,"  she  said, 
snobbishly,  as  she  beckoned  to  a  porter. 

Her  father  made  a  brief  struggle:   "It's  very  light." 

"Let  him  take  it,"  said  Daphne.  She  saw  that  he  was 
thinking  of  the  tip.  She  was  thinking  of  appearances, 
dreading  to  face  the  Biltmore  bell-boys  with  a  father  who 
carried  his  own  suit-case. 

"So  you're  going  to  treat,  eh?"  Wesley  laughed. 

"Yep,"  she  said. 

"Where  did  you  get  all  the  money?" 

"I'm  a  working-lady  now." 

He  laughed  again  and  shook  his  head  over  her. 

They  reached  the  hotel  lobby  by  the  underground  pas- 
age  and  a  bell-boy  snatched  the  suit-case  from  the 
porter.  Daphne  had  to  borrow  a  quarter  from  her 
father  to  tip  the  porter.  He  thought  that  a  dime  would 
have  been  enough,  but  he  paid  it.  He  was  used  to  this 
sort  of  thing.  They  checked  the  suit-case  with  the  hat- 
boy  and  Daphne  borrowed  a  tip  for  the  bell-boy.  Later 
she  would  borrow  a  tip  for  the  hat-boy  and  another  for 
the  footman  who  should  put  the  suit-case  in  the  taxicab. 

"What  did  you  mean  by  saying  you  were  a  working- 
lady?"  said  Wesley  when  they  were  seated  at  the  table 
and  breakfast  was  ordered.  "Your  mother  wrote  me  some- 

201 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

thing  about  having  a  little  disagreement  with  you.  She 
seemed  to  be  right  worried,  so  I  thought  I'd  better  run 
on  to  see  if  I  couldn't  sort  of  smooth  things  over.  I'm 
glad  you  came  to  meet  me.  We  can  talk  without  inter- 
ruption for  once.  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

She  told  him  the  whole  story  of  her  decision  to  join 
the  great  social  revolution  that  is  freeing  women  from  the 
slavery  of  enslaving  the  men.  Her  peroration  was  her  new 
watchword:  " I  don't  want  to  take  any  more  money  from 
you." 

"Why,  honey,"  he  protested,  "I  love  to  give  it  to  you. 
I  only  wish  I  had  ten  times  as  much.  I  couldn't  dream  of 
letting  you  work.  You're  too  pirty.  What's  that  young 
Wimburn  cub  mean  by  letting  you  work?" 

"Oh,  he's  bitterly  opposed  to  it,  so  I  gave  him  back 
his  ring." 

"Well,  I  never!"  he  gasped.  "And  all  this  trip  of  your 
mother's  and  yours  and  all  the  expenses  gone  for  nothing?" 
was  his  first  doleful  thought.  He  remembered  the  second 
mortgage  he  had  placed  on  one  of  his  properties  to  get  the 
money  for  the  vitally  important  wedding  festival.  And 
now  there  was  to  be  no  wedding.  The  son-in-law  who 
was  to  have  assumed  the  burden  of  Daphne's  bills  was 
banished.  Daphne  was  again  her  father's  own  child. 

He  was  glad  to  have  her  back,  but  he  could  have  wished 
that  she  had  not  gone  away,  since  he  paid  the  freight  in 
both  directions.  And  now  here  was  himself  in  New  York 
and  nothing  to  show  for  all  the  spilt  milk  of  time,  money, 
and  emotion. 

He  was  trying  to  be  an  uncomplaining,  obedient,  ideal 
American  father,  but  he  could  not  mimic  enthusiasm  over 
the  investment.  And  he  could  not  feel  any  confidence  in 
Daphne's  plans  for  supporting  herself.  He  had  put 
Bayard  through  college  and  into  business  and  he  knew  all 
too  well  that  a  child  of  enterprise  is  more  expensive  to  a 
parent  than  a  lazy  child  or  an  invalid.  Sons  had  once 
been  pillars  of  strength  to  a  father;  latterly  they  had  been 

202 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

liabilities  instead  of  assets.    And  now  daughters  were 
going  to  insist  on  being  launched  into  financial  seas! 

At  the  critical  moment  Daphne  mentioned  that  the 
star  whose  understudy  she  was  would  earn  fifty  thousand 
dollars  that  year  in  spite  of  the  hard  times.  "Fifty 
thousand  dollars"  had  a  musical  sound  to  Wesley's  ears. 
If  Daphne  could  earn  a  tenth  of  that  he  would  believe  in 
miracles. 

He  knew  nothing  of  the  theater.  Its  household  words 
were  unknown  in  his  household.  When  Daphne  spoke  of 
Sheila  Kemble  and  of  the  great  Reben  the  names  meant 
nothing  to  him.  He  asked  which  one  of  them  was  the 
manager. 

He  had  understood  that  the  stage  was  extremely 
wicked,  but  he  had  never  understood  how  profitable  it 
was  to  a  few  of  its  people.  To  earn  fifty  thousand  dollars 
one  must  either  be  superhumanly  wicked  or  not  very 
wicked  at  all.  But  he  was  out  of  his  depth,  and  he  re- 
turned to  a  topic  that  he  could  discuss. 

"Where  were  you  planning  to  live,  honey,  while  you're 
acting?  With  Bayard,  I  suppose." 

"Oh  no,"  said  Daphne;  "we've  ruined  his  honeymoon 
enough  already." 

"Who  with,  then?" 

"Oh,  by  myself,  I  suppose." 

"Good  Lord!  you  couldn't  do  that  very  well — a  young 
girl  like  you." 

"Why  not?"  she  said. 

He  turned  pale.  This  was  like  being  asked  why  babies 
were  found  under  cabbage  leaves.  He  was  an  old- 
fashioned  father,  and  he  had  never  been  able  to  rise  to 
the  new  school  of  discussing  vitally  important  topics  with 
the  children  vitally  interested. 

"Why,  why,"  he  stammered,  "why  because  nobody 
does  it,  honey.  Nice  girls  don't  live  alone." 

"Thousands  of  them  do  in  this  city." 

"Not  very  nice  ones,  I  guess — unless  they're  orphans/' 

203 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Well,  suppose  I  were  an  orphan?" 

"Then  you'd  have  to,  I  suppose,  though  even  orphans 
usually  have  some  relatives." 

Daphne  studied  him  with  a  tender  amusement.  He  was 
so  innocent  in  his  way,  in  spite  of  all  he  must  know.  She 
understood  what  he  was  thinking  of.  She  was  sophisti- 
cated in  the  manner  of  the  nice  girl  of  her  time  and  she 
liked  to  treat  submerged  themes  with  clean  candor.  She 
thought  that  prudery  was  a  form  of  slavery.  But  all  she 
said  was: 

"You  weren't  afraid  of  Bayard's  living  by  himself?" 

"Of  course  not.     He's  a  boy — a  man." 

"Isn't  a  man  just  as  important  as  a  woman?" 

"Yes.     No,  there's  a  big  difference." 

"What?" 

"Well,  if  a  man  is — er — does  wrong  it  doesn't  affect 
future  generations  so  much." 

"I  should  think  it  would." 

"It's  hard  to  explain." 

"I  think  I  know  what  you  mean,  but  I  don't  think  it's 
true." 

He  stared  at  her  in  terror. 

She  went  on,  relentlessly:  "We've  got  to  change  that 
old  idea  of  men  keeping  women  in  the  dark  because 
the  women  are  too  good  to  be  trusted.  I'm  going 
to  earn  my  living.  I  can't  afford  to  support  myself  and 
a  chaperon." 

"  If  you've  just  got  to  stay  in  New  York,  and  just  got  to 
work,  your  mother  could  stay  with  you,  I  suppose." 

"But  what  becomes  of  you  and  your  home?" 

"Oh,  I'll  get  along  somehow.     I  don't  matter." 

This  broke  her  heart.  She  cried  out:  "But  you  do 
matter,  daddy;  you  matter  terribly.  Can't  you  under- 
stand, daddy,  that  I'm  trying  to  relieve  you  and  make 
myself  useful  instead  of  a  parasite  ?  Thousands  of  women 
live  alone,  professional  women,  art  students,  music 
students,  college  girls,  normal-school  women,  besides  the 

204 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

women  in  shops  and  factories.  It's  coming  more  and 
more." 

"But  you're  not  brought  up  to  a  trade." 

"I  wish  I  had  been." 

"Well,  that's  a  new  complaint,  anyway,  but — well — of 
course  you  wouldn't  do  anything  wrong;  but  if  you  lived 
alone  you'd  be  misjudged,  and  men  would  keep  throwing 
temptation  in  your  way." 

"  I  had  plenty  of  that  when  I  was  living  at  home." 

"Daphne!"     He  cried  out  in  pain  at  the  very  thought. 

She  went  on,  educating  him  with  a  vengeance:  "Plenty 
of  temptation  and  plenty  of  opportunity,  daddy.  It 
wasn't  your  fault.  You  gave  me  all  the  protection  that 
anybody  could,  daddy.  But  you  can't  protect  people  all 
the  time.  And  it  was  when  you  trusted  me  most  that 
you  protected  me  most.  People  are  just  beginning  to 
realize  that  even  in  penitentiaries,  the  higher  the  walls  and 
the  stricter  the  guards  the  more  prisoners  try  to  escape. 
They're  sending  convicts  out  to  work  on  roads  now  with 
no  guards  at  all.  And  they  do  their  work  and  come  back. 
Don't  you  think  women  can  be  trusted  as  far  as  convicts?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  sighed.  But  he  was  convinced  of  the 
security  of  neither  the  convicts  nor  of  the  women  under 
these  new  anarchies.  He  was  convinced  of  only  one  thing, 
and  that  was  his  helplessness.  The  problems  confronting 
him  were  so  terrifying  and  the  clouds  enveloping  him  so 
thick  that  he  hardly  noted  what  a  breakfast  he  had  eaten 
nor  where  it  was  served. 

Daphne  made  a  great  nourish  of  paying  for  it.  But  she 
realized  that,  after  all,  she  had  not  collected  her  first  wages 
yet,  and  it  was  her  father's  money  that  she  was  spending. 
Still,  it  was  a  luxury  for  him  to  have  some  of  his  money 
lavished  on  himself.  He  got  his  Christmas  and  birthday 
presents  so. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

DAPHNE  took  him  home  in  a  taxicab.  At  the  apart- 
ment they  caught  Bayard  just  rushing  for  his  office. 
He  greeted  his  father  with  whirlwind  affection,  but  he 
knew  that  he  would  please  Wesley  better  by  hurrying  on 
to  his  office  than  by  neglecting  his  business  for  the  pur- 
pose of  entertainment. 

Daphne  was  glad  to  see  that  her  mother  embraced 
Wesley  with  genuine  warmth,  even  though  she  knew  that 
he  was  welcomed  as  an  ally  against  her. 

Wesley  took  Leila  by  storm  with  his  lavish  and  whole- 
hearted praise.  He  had  not  seen  her  before.  He  gathered 
her  to  his  breast,  then  held 'her  out  at  arm's-length  to 
praise  her  and  to  praise  Bayard  for  bringing  her  into  the 
family.  And  throughout  the  day  he  kept  turning  to  her 
and  patting  her  on  the  shoulder  and  saying  how  proud  he 
was  of  her. 

Mrs.  Kip  did  not  delay  long  the  assault  on  Daphne's 
position.  But  Wesley  said: 

"We've  had  a  long  talk  and  I  guess  she's  pretty  set  in 
her  way.  She's  a  good  girl,  though,  mamma.  And  she 
knows  her  own  mind  better  than  we  do.  Anyways,  it's 
her  own  mind.  God  forbid  that  I  should  try  to  dictate 
one  of  my  children's  lives.  Let  her  have  her  way  and  if 
anything  goes  wrong  she  can  always  come  back  home." 

His  wife  boiled  over.  It  made  her  feel  as  much  at 
home  as  an  old  kettle  on  a  stove  to  have  her  husband  there 
to  boil  over  on:  "Wesley  Kip,  are  you  going  to  sit  there 
and  encourage  that  girl  to  ruin  her  life  and  her  reputation 
without  doing  anything  to  protect  her?" 

206 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"  Oh,  I  guess  she's  not  going  to  ruin  anything.  After  all, 
the  best  way  to  protect  folks  is  to  trust  'em." 

It  was  bald  plagiarism,  but  Daphne  made  no  complaint. 
Wesley  got  into  trouble  at  once,  however,  by  making  the 
suggestion  that  his  wife  remain  as  a  companion  for  her 
child.  Mrs.  Kip  took  it  as  a  sign  that  he  wanted  to  get 
rid  of  her,  and  Daphne  refused  to  take  it  at  all. 

Wesley  sat  pondering  in  silence  for  a  while;  then  he  rose 
and,  mumbling,  "Be  back  in  a  little  while,"  took  his  hat 
and  went  out. 

They  wondered  what  mischief  he  was  up  to  and  what 
folly  he  would  commit.  He  -came  back  in  half  an  hour 
with  a  smile  of  success. 

"I  guess  it's  all  right.  I  been  thinking  about  all  the 
different  things  been  said.  We  don't  want  Daphne  living 
by  herself  and  she  don't  feel  like  she  ought  to  trespass 
on  Leila's  home;  so  I  got  an  idea  and  went  down  and  saw 
the  janitor  or  superintendent  or  whatever  he  is,  and  I 
asked  him  mightn't  it  be  there  was  somebody  in  this 
building  wanted  to  rent  a  room  to  a  nice  girl.  And  he 
said  there  was  a  young  couple  felt  the  rent  was  a  little 
high  and  had  an  extra  room.  So  we  went  up  and  took 
a  look  at  it.  Right  nice  young  woman,  name  of  Chiwis 
or  something  like  that;  said  she'd  be  glad  to  take  my 
daughter  in.  Her  husband  has  had  reverses  on  account 
the  hard  times,  and  they  had  more  space  than  they  really 
needed.  She  showed  me  the  room  Daphne  could  have. 
Looked  right  comfortable.  Not  as  nice  furniture  as  this 
one,  of  course,  but  there's  an  elegant  view.  I  was  think- 
ing that  if  Daphne  was  up  there  she  could  see  Bayard  and 
Leila  when  she  was  lonesome  or  anything;  and  she'd  be 
handy  where  they  could  keep  an  eye  on  her  if  she  got  sick 
or  anything." 

The  three  women  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  He  had 
solved  the  riddle  that  baffled  them  all,  and  had  com- 
promised the  irreconcilables.  The  only  question  Daphne 
could  think  of  was,  "How  much  is  it?" 

207 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"That's  none  of  your  business,"  Wesley  said,  with  mock 
bravado.  "I've  got  a  right  to  pay  your  rent  for  a  while 
yet.  We  fixed  up  the  price  all  satisfactory,  her  and  I." 

"I'll  bet  the  place  is  a  sight  and  the  woman  a  freak," 
said  Mrs.  Kip.  "Let's  go  have  a  look  at  her." 

So  all  four  went  up  in  the  elevator  to  the  top  floor. 
They  were  about  to  ring  the  bell  of  one  of  the  big  front 
apartments  like  Bayard's,  but  Wesley  checked  them. 

"It's  in  the  back." 

The  women  exhanged  glances  and  smiles  behind  the 
important  shoulder-blades  of  Wesley,  the  manager.  He 
rang  a  bell  and  a  young  woman  opened  the  door.  As 
Leila  said  afterward: 

"  She  had  the  whole  map  of  New  England  in  her  face, 
and  her  middle  name  was  Boston." 

But  she  was  young,  in  a  placid,  Puritanical  way,  and  she 
looked  exceedingly  clean  and  correct.  Her  very  smile  was 
neat,  exactly  adjusted  between  those  of  the  gracious 
hostess  and  of  the  landlady. 

The  living-room  was  furnished  in  impeccable  taste,  with 
quiet  tones  and  pleasant  primnesses  of  mahogany  furniture 
and  silver  candlesticks. 

Through  the  southern  windows  one  looked  out  across 
miles  on  miles  of  peculiarly  New  York  roofs,  huge  steeples 
of  buildings,  with  a  few  church  spires  lost  in  the  wells 
between  them.  Among  so  many  so  lofty  structures  the 
Metropolitan  Tower  and  the  wedge  of  the  Times  building 
seemed  not  far  off.  Even  the  Singer  and  the  Woolworth 
buildings  were  visible  miles  below,  the  crowning  peaks  of 
a  Sierra. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  led  the  way  to  the  room  that  was  for  rent. 
It  took  Daphne  at  once.  Spotlessness  is  the  first  luxury  in 
a  rented  room,  and  Puritan  beauty  has  a  grace  all  its  own. 
The  mahogany  bed  with  its  twisted  posts,  the  excellent 
linen,  and  the  honesty  of  everything  won  her  completely. 

She  felt  a  sense  of  relief  from  the  rather  gaudy  beauty 
of  Leila's  apartment.  She  felt  that  Mrs.  Chivvis,  who 

2Q8 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

showed  such  fine  restraint  in  her  furniture,  would  be 
equally  discreet  in  minding  her  own  affairs. 

"I'll  take  it,"  she  said;   "that  is,  if  you'll  take  me." 

Mrs.  Chiwis  said  that  she  would.  She  said  it  with  a 
New-Englandish  parsimony  of  enthusiasm,  but  her  eyes 
were  kindly,  and  Daphne  decided  that  she  thought  nice 
things,  but  lacked  the  courage  to  say  them. 

As  the  four  Kips  were  filing  out,  Daphne  paused  with 
a  sharp  gasp: 

"Oh!  By  the  way!  Where  do  I —  If — in  case  any 
one  calls  on  me — where  do  I  receive  him? — her? — them!" 

"In  the  parlor,  of  course,"  Mrs.  Chiwis  answered, 
frigidly.  ' '  You  would  hardly  expect  to  receive  them  in — ' ' 

"Oh,  of  course  not!"  Daphne  flared  back;  "but  what 
about  you  and  Mr.  Chiwis?" 

"We  have  our  own  room.  We  can  sit  there  when  you 
have  callers." 

Strange  propriety  of  the  plural!  There  is  something 
shocking  about  "him"  or  "her,"  but  "them"  is  pure. 
It  is  vague,  neutral,  and  it  has  the  pomposity  of  the 
editorial  and  the  royal  "we." 

Daphne  hung  over  the  door-sill  a  moment,  then  asked : 
"But  suppose  that  you  and  Mr.  Chiwis  have  callers  on 
the  same  evening  when  I  happen  to  have  a — er — callers?" 

Mrs.  Chiwis  did  not  like  to  commit  herself  to  a  promise, 
because  she  kept  her  promises.  Yet  she  did  not  want  to 
lose  a  customer,  so  she  said: 

' '  Oh,  we'll  arrange  that,  have  no  fear.  You  would  have 
the  preference,  of  course,  since  you  are  paying  us." 

"We-ell,  all  ri-ight,"  Daphne  drawled.     "Good-by!" 

When  they  returned  to  Leila's  apartment  she  was  still 
troubling  over  this  dilemma.  It  is  one  of  the  chief  annoy- 
ances and  dangers  of  city  life.  Wesley  said  the  most  that 
could  be  said  for  the  situation : 

"Better  try  the  place,  honey.  You  might  go  further 
and  get  worse." 

"That's  so,"  said  Daphne.     And  wondered  if  it  were, 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

DAPHNE  moved  at  once  into  the  Chiwis  apartment 
what  belongings  she  had  brought  on  from  Cleveland, 
and  her  mother  promised  to  despatch  the  rest  of  them  as 
soon  as  she  reached  home. 

Wesley  could  not  be  persuaded  to  stay  over  an  un- 
necessary night.  His  business  was  in  a  perilous  condition. 
The  mammoth  Cowper  firm  had  gone  into  bankruptcy 
owing  him  a  handsome  sum  of  money  which  he  was  not 
likely  to  recover.  The  failure  also  closed  an  important 
and  profitable  market  for  his  calculating-machines.  It 
frightened  his  banks  as  well,  and  he  had  wrestled  like 
another  Jacob  with  an  almost  invisible  cashier  for  money 
enough  to  meet  his  pay-roll. 

Yet  he  slipped  a  large  bill  into  Daphne's  hand  when  he 
bade  her  good-by  at  the  station  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
he  whispered  to  her  that  she  should  have  other  reinforce- 
ments whenever  she  called  on  him. 

The  farewells  were  harrowing.  The  situation  was  the 
exact  opposite  of  what  it  should  have  been. 

The  scene  should  have  been  the  dooryard  of  a  dear  old 
home,  and  Daphne  should  have  been  a  boy  with  blue  eyes 
and  hair  a  trifle  long  at  the  nape,  about  to  trudge  away 
to  the  great  city  to  make  his  fortune;  he  should  have 
been  pausing  at  the  old  gate  and  waving  farewell  to  a 
humble  father  and  to  a  plain  old  mother  lifting  her  apron 
to  her  eyes  while  a  shy  little  sister  clung  to  her  skirts. 

But  Daphne  had  reversed  the  traditions  with  a  ven- 
geance. She  was  the  shy  little  sister,  and  she  was  putting 
her  reluctant  father  and  mother  on  the  train  in  the 

210 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

palatial  station.  Her  mother  was  dressed  in  her  metro- 
politan best.  The  daughter  was  shipping  the  parents 
home.  They  bothered  her  with  their  obsolete  anxieties. 
She  was  on  the  way  to  fame  and  fortune. 

And  yet  there  were  thundercaps  enough  in  the  sky  and 
there  were  traps  enough  in  the  path  of  Daphne's  fashion- 
able feet.  She  never  suspected  just  what  they  were.  As 
usual,  the  dangers  least  regarded  were  the  most  grave. 
She  kissed  her  parents  good-by,  and  pooh-pooh'd  their 
solemn  faces.  She  laughed  and  flung  them  kisses  and  pre- 
tended to  have  no  fears.  But  she  had  them  in  plenty, 
for  she  faced  the  world  alone  now,  the  more  alone  from 
the  fact  that  Leila  and  Bayard  were  with  her. 

They  regarded  her  with  increasing  uneasiness,  wonder- 
ing what  trouble  she  would  stumble  into  first.  They  had 
asked  her  to  dine  with  them,  but  she  gave  another  en- 
gagement as  an  excuse,  knowing  how  well  they  would 
enjoy  being  alone  together  after  the  strain  of  a  family 
visitation.  But  she  had  no  other  engagement. 

She  left  her  brother  and  his  wife  with  a  brisk  assumption 
of  important  errands,  but  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of 
sight  her  pace  slackened.  Where  was  she  to  go? 

She  wished  that  she  belonged  to  a  club  of  some  kind. 
Women's  clubs  were  springing  up  rapidly,  but  Daphne  was 
a  stranger  in  town.  She  had  no  social  prestige  or  achieve- 
ment or  friendships  to  guide  her  into  the  Colony  Club  or 
the  Cosmopolitan.  She  had  no  diploma  to  help  her  into 
the  Woman's  University  Club.  She  did  not  know  of  the 
Professional  Wpman's  League,  or  the  Twelfth  Night,  or 
the  National  Arts.  If  she  had  known  of  them,  and  had 
had  sponsors  to  secure  her  election,  she  would  still  be  out- 
side them  for  some  weeks. 

She  did  not  want  to  dine  with  the  Chiwises,  though  she 
had  arranged  to  take  her  meals  there.  She  wanted  to  be 
free  of  relatives,  but  not  without  friends. 

The  world  has  still  to  arrange  pastimes  for  working- 
women  in  their  idle  hours.  A  man  can  go  anywhere,  sit 

211 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

about  in  a  hotel  lobby,  drop  into  a  pool-parlor  or  a  saloon, 
lean  on  a  rail  and  tell  his  troubles  to  a  barkeeper,  pick  up 
acquaintances  at  his  will.  But  a  girl  without  acquaint- 
ances or  family  has  hardly  any  facilities  for  making 
friends. 

There  were  enough  lonely  men  who  would  have  been 
glad  to  cultivate  so  pretty  a  girl  as  Daphne  and  to  pay  all 
the  expenses.  Some  of  them,  indeed,  proffered  their 
courtesies,  but  Daphne  only  despised  them  and  ignored 
them,  fled  from  them. 

Clay  Wimburn  would  have  rejoiced  to  attend  her  and 
Tom  Duane  would  have  broken  engagements  at  her  sum- 
mons. But  she  was  in  no  humor  to  make  advances  to 
either  of  them.  Clay  was  opposed  to  her  career  and  Tom 
Duane  was  suspiciously  interested  in  it.  She  was  so 
desperate  for  something  to  do  that  she  entered  the  Public 
Library  and  sat  in  the  art-gallery  for  a  while.  When  that 
was  closed,  she  dined  alone  very  slowly  at  a  little  restau- 
rant. She  reached  the  theater  at  seven  o'clock  and  sat  in 
the  dark  on  a  canvas  rock,  watching  the  stage-hands 
gather,  and  listening  to  their  repartee. 

Batterson  arrived  at  length.  He  was  in  one  of  his 
humane  moods.  He  asked  Daphne  if  she  had  memorized 
her  lines,  and  she  said  she  had.  He  told  her  that  he 
would  give  her  another  rehearsal  the  next  day  after 
breakfast.  "After  breakfast,"  he  explained,  was  one 
o'clock  P.M. 

He  asked  Daphne  if  she  knew  anything  about  make-up, 
and  she  confessed  that  she  did  not.  He  beckoned  to  the 
girl  she  had  seen  appearing  in  the  first  act  with  a  tennis- 
racket — Miss  Joy  Winsor  her  name  was.  Batterson  in- 
troduced her  and  asked  her  to  instruct  Daphne  in  the 
A  B  C  of  her  trade. 

Miss  Winsor  rather  terrified  Daphne  at  first.  She  was 
playing  a  silly  young  girl,  but  she  proved  to  be  one  of  a 
class  that  has  latterly  turned  to  the  stage  in  large  numbers. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  was  an  earnest  person,  of  excellent  family,  who  had 
graduated  from  Wellesley  College  and  then  prepared  her- 
self for  the  theater  as  for  a  professorship.  She  had  taken 
a  course  in  a  dramatic  school  and  played  all  the  great  rdles 
there. 

Then,  as  graduates  do,  having  learned  everything  that 
teachers  can  teach,  she  began  to  learn  for  herself  from  the 
ground.  She  would  probably  never  succeed  in  gaining 
favor  or  fortune,  for  she  lacked  magnetism  and  beauty, 
but  she  would  have  a  livelihood  and  a  measure  of  inde- 
pendence. She  was  a  useful  woman  to  the  stage  and 
would  rarely  be  without  employment. 

She  invited  Daphne  into  her  dressing-room  and  lec- 
tured her  with  a  kindly  condescension. 

"Make-up  is  a  science  that  no  two  people  agree  on. 
About  all  that  you  can  be  sure  of  is  that  your  own  skin 
will  be  ghastly  unless  you  put  two  or  three  coats  on  it. 
Everything  I  learned  at  school  I  had  to  learn  all  over 
again,  for  I  looked  a  fright  at  first. 

"You  have  small  and  exquisite  features,  Miss  Kip,  and 
that's  against  you  on  the  stage;  and  you  have  a  fine  skin 
that  won't  be  of  the  slightest  help.  I'm  not  sure  just  how 
you  ought  to  be  made  up,  either.  You're  not  my  type 
at  all,  with  your  brown  eyes  and  brows  and  your  light 
hair.  But  let's  see  what  we  can  figure  out." 

She  opened  a  black  tin  box  full  of  brushes,  tubes,  boxes, 
bottles,  and  rags. 

"I  use  a  grease-paint  make-up  that  is  very  elaborate. 
I  build  a  foundation  of  exora,  then  I  use  the  lip-rouge  for 
my  face.  But  if  I  were  you,  I  would  go  at  it  differently. 
You'd  better  omit  the  grease-paint.  First  put  a  cap  on 
your  hair,  then  cold-cream  'your  face  and  massage  it  well, 
so  that  you  can  work  in  the  make-up.  Then  wipe  the 
cold-cream  all  off.  It's  a  very  messy  business,  you  see. 
Then  take  a  swan's-down  puff  and  powder  your  face  com- 
pletely with  pink  powder.  I  use  a  dark-cream  color,  but 
I  think  a  pink  would  suit  you  better.  Then  put  on  a  dry 

213 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

rouge  of  a  light  shade — number  eighteen  would  be  about 
right  for  you.  Put  that  on  over  your  eyes  and  temples 
and  carry  it  all  round  the  cheek.  With  a  face  shaped 
like  yours  you  ought  to  carry  the  red  well  down,  to  take 
away  that  jaw  line.  It  is  very  fine  and  beautiful  now, 
but  across  the  footlights  it  would  look  rather  sharp,  I'm 
afraid. 

"Then  rouge  your  ears  and  leave  them  quite  red. 
Blue-pencil  your  eyelids,  upper  and  lower  both.  Smooth 
the  blue  in  with  your  fingers.  You've  got  to  learn  how  to 
blend  it  all  so  that  everything  shades  off  into  the  rest. 
Then  powder  again. 

"Then  take  a  baby's  hair-brush  like  this  and  dust  off 
all  the  extra  powder.  Then  brush  out  your  eyebrows 
with  an  eyebrow  brush.  Then  go  over  the  brows  with  a 
brown  eyebrow  pencil  and  accentuate  the  lines  and  bring 
them  lower  on  the  sides. 

"Now  take  another  little  brush  and  put  a  dark-brown 
mascaro  on  your  eyelashes.  I  don't  think  you  ought  to 
use  a  black  mascaro  with  your  eyes.  Some  women  take  a 
hair-pin  and  build  each  eyelash  out,  bead  it  with  cos- 
metic. But  that's  more  for  the  comic-opera  stage.  For 
the  legitimate  we  use  a  softer  treatment. 

"Then  take  a  little  lip  rouge  on  your  finger-tip  and  rub 
it  in  the  edges  of  the  nostrils.  And  put  a  little  red  line 
from  your  nose  to  your  lips  and  put  a  little  red  spot  in  the 
inner  corner  of  each  eye  to  brighten  the  shadow. 

"Be  very  careful  about  making  up  your  mouth.  Don't 
rob  it  of  its  character.  On  the  comic-opera  stage  they 
dab  on  what  they  call  the  Cupid's  bow;  but  you  don't 
want  to  look  like  a  doll,  and  your  mouth  is  so  beautiful 
that  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  paint  it  so  that  it  will  carry 
through  that  terrific  wall  of  light  between  you  and  the 
audience. 

"My  mouth  is  too  big,  so  I  cut  it  off  and  forget  it  about 
here  on  each  side  and  I  put  little  smile  lines  at  the  corner. 
You  don't  need  them. 

214 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Before  you  rouge  your  lips  rub  them  perfectly  dry, 
then  dip  your  little  finger  into  the  rouge-box  and  work 
the  color  in  very  carefully.  The  bright  carmine  is  the 
right  rouge  for  you.  I  use  a  darker  shade. 

"Now  you  take  the  rabbit's  foot  and  retouch  your 
cheeks  with  rouge  till  you  get  the  right  degree  of  red — 
that  depends  on  the  light.  For  a  bright  scene  use  a  great 
deal  of  rouge;  for  a  dark  scene  very  little. 

"When  you  play  in  a  strange  theater  ask  about  the 
house  lights  and  tone  your  make-up  accordingly.  Use  a 
liquid  white  on  your  neck  and  arms,  and  whiten  the  backs 
of  ycur  hands  and  rouge  your  palms  a  little  and  also  your 
finger-tips.  And  I  think  that's  about  all." 

"Good  Lord!  It's  enough!"  gasped  Daphne,  who  had 
listened  with  growing  bewilderment.  "I  didn't  know  I 
had  to  be  a  house  and  sign  painter.  I'll  never  remember 
half  of  it." 

Miss  Winsor  smiled  with  professional  calm:  "I'd  make 
you  up  now  to  show  you,  but  I  haven't  time.  I'll  come 
early  to-morrow  evening.  If  you  want  to,  you  can  bring 
your  own  make-up  material  and  I'll  make  you  up  a  few 
times.  Then  you  can  experiment  by  yourself  and  have 
your  friends  tell  you  how  you  look  from  the  front.  It's 
very  hard  to  tell,  and  it's  hard  to  keep  it  regular." 

"How  much  will  the  outfit  cost?" 

"That  depends,  of  course.  Five  or  six  dollars  will  get 
everything  you  need."  She  found  a  pencil  and  made  out 
the  list  for  Daphne.  Then  she  said:  "Now  I've  got  to 
make  up  my  own  phiz.  You  can  stay  and  watch  me  if 
you  want." 

"You're  awfully  kind." 

"Everybody  is  kind  on  the  stage  except  when  you  be- 
come dangerous.  Then  it's  only  business  to  look  out  for 
Number  One." 

Daphne  sat  down,  and  Miss  Winsor  whipped  off  her 
street  clothes,  put  on  a  cap,  and  began  to  smear  her  face 
with  exora.  It  was  soon  ruined  beyond  recognition,  like 

215 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

a  fresh  oil-painting  that  a  disgusted  artist  reduces  to 
chaos. 

At  length  her  features  began  to  come  back  in  blotches, 
gross  and  unreal  as  a  caricature.  Daphne  watched  her, 
trying  to  remember  the  successive  steps. 

"Were  you  terribly  afraid  the  first  time  you  acted?" 
she  asked. 

"Was  I  afraid?"  Miss  Winsor  threw  her  eyes  up.  "I 
played  a  housemaid  the  first  time,  and  I  shivered  so  I 
dropped  my  tray  and  stood  on  it  while  I  tried  to  pick  it  up. 
I've  had  two  operations,  but  they  were  nothing.  You 
can't  take  ether  for  your  first  performance,  you  know. 
Fact  is,  I'm  scared  to  death  every  night.  You  never  get 
over  it,  for  every  audience  is  unlike  every  other  audience." 

"What  did  the  audience  do  when  you  dropped  your 
tray?" 

"Oh,  it  just  laughed.  And  then  I  spoke  my  cue  in- 
stead of  my  line.  You  ought  to  have  seen  the  face  of  the 
poor  fellow  who  was  playing  opposite  to  me  when  he  heard 
me  say,  'Is  your  mistress  at  home?'  I  swore  I'd  never 
appear  before  another  audience,  but  I  had  to.  My 
father  had  spent  so  much  money  educating  me,  and  I'd 
insisted  on  going  on  the  stage,  and  he  educated  me  for 
that,  and  then  he  lost  his  health  and  his  salary  and  he  had 
a  long  string  of  other  children,  so  I  had  to  stay  where  I 
was.  It's  a  nice  life,  though,  in  a  lot  of  ways.  It  has  its 
bad  points,  but  what  life  hasn't?" 

"How  long  have  you  been  on  the  stage — if  you  don't 
mind  my  asking?" 

"Three  years." 

Daphne  wanted  to  ask  how  much  salary  she  was  getting, 
but  she  did  not  quite  dare.  Miss  Winsor  volunteered  the 
information  indirectly. 

"Reben  has  promised  me  sixty-five  dollars  next  season, 
and  we're  booked  for  forty  weeks  sure." 

Daphne  pondered.  Miss  Winsor  with  all  her  equip- 
ment had  been  acting  for  three  years.  She  made  about 

216 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

twenty  minutes'  appearance  altogether  on  the  stage  each 
evening,  and  was  to  get  sixty-five  dollars  a  week  for  forty 
weeks.  She  must  be  getting  about  fifty  dollars  a  week 
now.  Daphne  managed  to  calculate  without  pencil  and 
paper  that  forty  times  fifty  would  be  around  two  thousand 
dollars  a  year. 

That  was  a  long  way  from  the  fifty  thousand  that 
Sheila  Kemble  was  reported  to  earn.  And  suppose  Miss 
Winsor  did  not  play  forty  weeks  a  year.  Daphne  imagined 
that  few  people  did.  She  remembered  overhearing  one 
actor  say  to  another  in  the  wings  that  a  friend  of  his  had 
played  only  eight  weeks  in  two  years.  She  began  to 
wonder  what  chance  she  had. 

She  sat  in  Miss  Winsor's  room  and  thought  of  the  good 
and  the  bad  phases  of  stage  life.  She  knew  little  about 
money,  never  having  earned  any  or  kept  any  accounts. 
She  knew  nothing  of  comparative  wages  or  living  expenses. 
She  knew  nothing  of  her  own  abilities  except  that  she  had 
begun  with  a  dazzling  failure  even  at  rehearsal.  The  worst 
of  it  was,  that  she  felt  within  her  no  crying  need  to  express 
her  personality  before  the  public.  In  fact,  she  rather 
liked  to  keep  her  personality  to  herself. 

She  watched  Miss  Winsor  finish  the  canvas  of  her  own 
face.  That  loathsome  task  would  have  to  be  gone  through 
before  every  performance.  Miss  Winsor  spent  an  hour 
getting  ready  for  her  twenty  minutes  of  acting.  She 
would  spend  half  an  hour  more,  no  doubt,  removing  what 
she  had  so  toilsomely  constructed. 

Miss  Winsor  put  on  her  white  stockings  and  her  rub- 
ber-soled tennis-shoes  and  took  up  her  racket.  It  seemed 
extraordinarily  foolish  to  Daphne.  They  walked  out  into 
the  wings.  The  same  overture  was  playing  remotely. 
The  same  actors  were  waiting.  The  curtain  went  up  with 
the  same  swish. 

Miss  Winsor  whispered  "Good-by!"  nervously,  then 
took  the  hand  of  the  highly  painted  young  man  in  tennis 
costume,  and  skipped  out  into  the  light.  Daphne  heard 

217 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

her  saying  the  same  speeches  she  said  before.  The  actor 
who  was  a  butler  straightened  his  shoulders  and  stalked 
on.  Eldon,  chatting  with  Mrs.  Vining,  began  to  laugh; 
then  he  entered.  When  he  came  off,  Mrs.  Vining  asked 
him  how  they  were  to-night." 

"Willing,  but  slow,"  said  Eldon. 

That  business  of  saying  the  same  lines  over  and  over 
again  depressed  Daphne  to-night.  Miss  Winsor,  she 
noted  as  she  listened,  was  a  "feeder."  Daphne  did  not 
know  the  technical  term,  but  she  realized  the  effect. 
Miss  Winsor  kept  asking  foolish  questions  and  somebody 
else  made  the  answers  that  brought  the  laughs. 

Daphne  was  losing  heart.  She  had  been  attracted  by 
the  velvet  of  the  stage.  Now  she  was  seeing  the  knotty 
side,  the  labor  of  the  looms. 

Daphne  left  the  theater  in  a  state  of  blues.  She  walked 
home  in  a  cloud.  She  noticed  at  length  that  some  man 
was  at  her  side  muttering  something.  She  realized  with  a 
start  that  he  had  been  at  her  elbow  for  some  time.  She 
had  no  sense  of  lofty  pride.  She  turned  on  him  with  a 
sick  disgust  and  snapped: 

"Oh,  let  me  alone!" 

He  dropped  back  into  oblivion. 


'CHAPTER  XXX 

SHE  reached  her  apartment  without  further  molesta- 
tion and  opened  the  door  with  her  latch-key.  She 
found  the  Chiwises  in  their  parlor,  seated  at  the  center- 
table  in  front  of  a  number  of  papers.  She  started  to  back 
out,  but  Mrs.  Chiwis  rose  quickly  and  presented  her 
husband. 

He  was  Mrs.  Chiwis  in  male  form.  He  was  evidently 
shocked  by  Daphne's  beauty.  Mrs.  Chiwis  started  to 
gather  up  the  papers. 

"We  were  just  going  over  our  monthly  accounts,"  she 
said.  "Sit  down." 

"Can't  stop,  thanks,"  said  Daphne,  and  went  to  her 
own  room.  She  picked  out  the  part  Miss  Winsor  was 
playing  and  began  to  study  it,  whispering  the  lines  over 
to  herself.  She  had  said  them  already  scores  of  times. 
If  she  was  called  on  to  play  the  part  she  might  say  them 
scores  of  times  more  and  she  would  have  to  smear  and 
unsmear  her  face  forever. 

She  was  going  to  do  all  this  in  order  to  lighten  the  bur- 
dens of  her  father  and  her  husband.  Her  father  had  gone 
home  in  a  state  of  melancholia  and  her  expected  husband 
was  avoiding  her.  He  was  with  another  girl,  probably — a 
girl  with  Leila's  philosophy  of  life;  the  way  to  win  a  man 
and  keep  him  won  is  to  make  him  work  and  work  him. 

The  Chiwis  apartment  was  a  triumph  in  the  trans- 
mission of  sound  and  Daphne  could  vaguely  hear  them 
murmuring.  Evidently  they  were  going  over  their  ac- 
counts and  discussing  their  financial  prospects.  They 
were  making  an  evening's  entertainment  of  it.  Bayard 

219 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

and  Leila  would  have  taken  as  much  pleasure  in  visiting 
a  hospital. 

Daphne  heard  Chiwis'  voice  rise  above  the  mumble 
in  a  note  of  ecstasy. 

"Oh,  jolly!  If  we  do  without  that  we  can  put  eighteen 
dollars  a  month  more  in  the  savings-bank." 

"Fine!  Beautiful!"  Mrs.  Chiwis  cried,  with  equal 
rapture. 

Their  feast  was  turning  into  a  little  orgy  of  book- 
keeping. 

Daphne  smiled  with  a  quiet  contempt.  She  felt  a  re- 
pugnance toward  the  cheese-parers.  She  wondered  why. 
She  had  felt  repugnance,  also,  for  Leila's  ruthless  ex- 
travagance. 

The  following  morning  Daphne  went  to  a  drug-store  and 
bought  everything  on  the  list  Miss  Winsor  gave  her,  in- 
cluding a  black  tin  box.  She  felt  as  proud  as  a  boy  with 
a  chest  of  tools.  She  was  an  actress  now.  She  had  the 
machinery  and  a  place  in  the  shop.  The  next  thing  was  a 
bit  of  work  to  do. 

She  spent  the  forenoon  in  her  room,  experimenting  with 
make-up.  She  reduced  herself  to  a  freshly  painted  chromo 
and  put  some  of  Mrs.  Chiwis'  towels  in  such  a  state  that 
she  washed  them  out  herself. 

At  one  o'clock  she  presented  herself  to  Batterson  and 
endured  one  of  his  rehearsals,  with  his  assistant  reading  all 
the  cues  in  a  lifeless  voice.  Batterson  was  more  dis- 
couraged than  she  was.  He  showed  it  for  a  time  by  a 
patience  that  was  of  the  sort  one  shows  to  a  shy  imbecile. 

He  was  so  restrained  that  Daphne  broke  out  for  him, 
"Do  you  think  I  am  a  complete  idiot,  Mr.  Batterson?" 

"Far  from  it,  my  dear,"  said  Batterson.  "You  are  a 
very  intelligent  young  woman.  The  trouble  is  that  you 
are  too  intelligent  for  the  child's  play  of  the  stage.  It's  all 
a  kind  of  big  nursery,  and  you  can't  forget  that  facts  are 
not  facts  in  this  toy  game.  If  you  could  let  yourself  go, 

220 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

and  be  foolish  and  play  doll-house  you  might  succeed. 
It's  hard  even  when  you  know  how.  But  it's  impossible 
as  long  as  you  try  to  reason  it  out.  It's  like  music  and 
fiction  and  all  the  arts.  You've  got  to  pretend  or  you 
can't  feel  and  you  can't  make  anybody  else  feel." 

And  that,  indeed,  was  Daphne's  agony.  She  could  not 
release  her  imagination  or  command  her  clear  vision  to  see 
what  was  not  there. 

"Shall  I  give  up,  then?"  said  Daphne. 

"I  wish  you  would,"  said  Batterson. 

"Then  I  won't,"  said  Daphne. 

Batterson  laughed.  "You  may  get  it  yet.  It  might 
come  to  you  all  of  a  sudden  and  knock  you  all  of  a  heap." 

Days  passed,  and  she  went  on  perfecting  herself  in  the 
lines  till  she  could  rattle  them  off  like  a  parrot.  She  had 
a  good  memory;  she  could  understand  what  she  was  told 
to  do,  and  could  go  through  all  the  motions.  But  she 
could  not  surrender  her  spirit  to  it. 

She  ceased  to  be  nervous  and  grew  dogged.  Batterson 
told  her  at  last  that  she  could  give  a  good  workman-like 
performance  of  any  of  the  parts.  She  emphasized  the 
words  he  told  her  to  emphasize  and  moved  from  position 
to  position,  according  to  instructions.  That  was  some- 
thing, but  it  was  not  much. 

Night  after  night  she  reported  at  the  theater  and  left  it 
when  the  curtain  rose.  On  one  of  these  evenings  Tom 
Duane  met  her  outside  the  stage  door.  His  apology  was 
that  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  look  after  his  client. 

He  invited  Daphne  to  ride  home  in  his  car,  which  was 
waiting  at  the  curb.  She  declined  with  thanks.  He 
urged  that  she  take  a  little  spin  in  the  Park.  She  de- 
clined without  thanks.  He  sighed  that  it  was  a  pity  to 
lose  the  moonlight. 

She  said  she  would  get  enough  when  she  walked  home. 
He  asked  if  he  might  "toddle  along."  She  could  hardly 
refuse  without  crassly  insulting  him. 

221 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  dismissed  his  car  and  they  strolled  up  Broadway. 
He  proffered  her  refreshments  of  various  kinds  at  all  the 
restaurants.  She  shook  her  head.  He  invited  her  to  go 
to  one  of  the  dancing-places  with  him.  She  refused  even 
that. 

But  as  they  sauntered,  they  passed  a  drug-store,  largely 
occupied  by  an  enormous,  ornate  soda-fountain  of  imita- 
tion marble.  It  had  as  many  stops  as  a  pipe-organ  and 
a  squad  of  white-coated  ganymedes  played  fearful  and 
wonderful  tunes  on  it,  producing  dozens  of  combinations 
of  cold  and  wet  and  sweet  and  bubblesome  for  the  seduc- 
tion of  the  palate  and  the  destruction  of  the  rest  of  the 
digestive  apparatus. 

"I  would  accept  an  invitation  to  one  of  those,"  said 
Daphne,  indicating  the  flying  concoctions. 

Duane  flinched,  but  he  said,  "Then  I  suppose  I'll  have 
to  invite  you." 

She  noted  his  uncharacteristic  reluctance  and  asked, 
"Are  you  afraid  to  be  seen  in  there?" 

"Not  exactly  afraid.     I  am  absolutely  fearless,  but — " 

"Ashamed,  then?" 

"Perhaps.  That's  about  the  only  reputation  I  have 
left  to  lose.  Let's  go  in  and  lose  it." 

They  crowded  up  to  the  bar  and  Daphne  selected  a 
raspberry  sundae  and  Duane  ordered  a  French  vichy. 

"Don't  you  really  care  for  this  sort  of  thing?"  said 
Daphne.  "It's  beautiful — the  ice-cream  with  the  fresh 
raspberries." 

Duane  blushed.  "As  a  matter  of  fact  I  should  like  it 
very  much.  As  a  boy  I  used  to  sit  up  to  the  soda-foun- 
tain with  the  best  of  them.  But  I'm  not  brave  enough 
now.  There  are  all  sorts  of  cowards,  but  the  men  who  are 
afraid  to  acknowledge  their  sweet  tooth  are  the  lowest 
of  all,  and  I'm  one  of  them." 

She  could  not  persuade  him  to  bravery,  and  they  left  the 
place.  They  loitered  slowly  up  the  quiet  reach  of  Seventh 
Avenue.  He  questioned  her  about  her  work  with  all  the 

222 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

grateful  flattery  there  is  in  an  appetite  for  another's 
autobiography.  She  found  it  easy  to  tell  him  of  her 
difficulties.  He  extracted  encouragement  or  indirect  com- 
pliment out  of  all  of  them. 

When  they  arrived  at  her  apartment-house  she  said, 
"Sorry  I  can't  ask  you  up,  but  I  have  no  reception-room, 
and  I'm  tired  out." 

"You  have  wasted  enough  of  your  time  on  me,"  he 
said.  "I'll  see  you  to  the  elevator." 

As  Daphne  stepped  into  the  hallway  she  found  Clay 
Wimburn  there,  waiting  grimly.  He  sprang  to  his  feet 
with  a  gasp  of  relief.  He  caught  sight  of  Duane  and  his 
joy  died  instantly. 

Daphne,  rushing  forward  to  greet  him,  felt  checked  by 
his  sudden  ice.  She  burned  with  rage  at  the  irony  of  all 
those  lonely  homecomings  ending  in  this  sudden  embar- 
rassment of  escort.  Clay  growled  at  Duane. 

"Hello,  Duane!" 

Duane  smiled  back.  "Hello,  Wimburn !"  He  saw  that 
Daphne  was  confused  and  he  bade  her  good  night  and 
smiled  again.  "'Night,  Wimburn." 

He  could  afford  to  be  light.     He  had  nothing  to  lose. 

Wimburn  envied  him  his  flippant  graces  and  hated  him 
for  them.  Wimburn  loved  Daphne  and  wanted  her  for 
his  own.  He  had  counted  her  his  own,  and  still  had 
neither  refunded  the  engagement-ring  nor  paid  for  it. 
Daphne  was  more  pleased  with  Wimburn's  misery  than 
with  Duane's  felicity. 

"Won't  you  come  up,  Clay?"  she  asked. 

He  murmured,  "Can  we  be  alone  for  a  little  talk?" 

"I'm  afraid  not.     The  Chi  wises,  you  know." 

He  cursed  inwardly.  He  remembered  that  piazza,  in 
Cleveland,  and  in  all  the  other  American  communities 
except  this  horrible  New  York — a  ghastly  city  without  a 
front  porch  or  a  hammock. 

"Will  you  take  a  little  walk  with  me  in  the  Park?" 

"All  right,"  she  said  as  she  led  the  way  out  into  the 
223 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

street.     "I'm  pretty  tired,  though.     I  walked  home  from 
the  theater." 

"With  Duane!"  Clay  snarled.  "You  weren't  too  tired 
for  that." 

Daphne  thought  of  the  motor  ride  and  the  supper  she 
had  declined.  She  said,  "Are  you  dragging  me  out  here 
for  the  sake  of  a  fight?" 

"There'll  be  no  fight  if  you'll  cut  out  that  man  Duane." 

"Am  I  to  have  no  friends  at  all?" 

"You  can  have  all  you  want,  provided — " 

"You  select  them.  Look  here,  Clay,  Mr.  Duane  got  me 
my  job.  He  got  it  twice.  I  can't  insult  him  even  to  please 
you.  If  we  were  married  you'd  expect  me  to  let  you  run 
your  business  your  own  way.  I've  got  to  run  mine  mine." 

"You  have  no  business  to  have  any  business,"  he 
struck  out,  fiercely.  "  Why  can't  you  marry  me  and  settle 
down  to  be  a  normal,  decent  little  wife?" 

"Really,  Clay,"  she  gasped,  "if  you're  going  back  to 
start  all  over  again  you'll  have  to  choose  some  other 
time.  I'm  worn  out  and  I've  got  to  study." 

She  faced  about  and  began  to  retrace  her  steps,  Clay 
following  and  not  knowing  which  of  his  grievances  to 
speak  of  first.  Daphne  meant  better  than  she  sounded 
when  she  said: 

"Let  me  give  you  one  little  hint,  Clay,  for  your  own 
information.  Every  time  this  Mr.  Duane  that  you're  so 
afraid  of  meets  me  he  does  his  best  to  help  me  get  my 
chance  and  he  tells  me  only  pleasant  things.  Every  time 
you've  come  to  see  me  lately  you've  been  either  a  sick  cat 
or  a  roaring  tiger." 

She  was  planning  to  urge  him  to  help  her  and  make 
their  meetings  rosier.  But,  lover-like,  he  took  umbrage 
and  pain  and  despair  from  her  advice,  and  since  they  were 
again  at  the  vestibule  he  sighed,  "Good  night,  Mrs. 
Duane,"  and  flung  out  into  the  dark. 

Daphne  sighed,  and  the  poor  elevator-man  who  saw  so 
much  of  this  sort  of  thing  sighed  with  her  and  for  her. 

224 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

ALL  this  while  Daphne  was  kept  in  readiness  to  take 
Miss  Kemble's  part  in  case  the  illness  of  her  child 
should  result  in  death  and  in  the  further  case  that  she 
should  be  unable  to  finish  her  performances.  With  the 
theatrical  season  in  such  bad  estate  and  most  of  Reben's 
other  companies  and  theaters  losing  money  heavily, 
Sheila  Kemble  was  his  one  certain  dependence.  He 
called  her  his  breadwinner. 

For  that  reason  she  kept  on  playing,  since  her  defection 
would  not  only  throw  out  of  employment  her  own  entire 
troupe  and  close  the  theater,  but  it  would  cripple  Reben 
and  rob  all  his  companies  of  their  salaries.  In  better 
seasons  he  would  have  dismissed  the  audience  in  her  ab- 
sence. But  he  had  no  intention  of  returning  the  money  of 
any  thousand-dollar  house  once  it  was  in  the  box-office. 

Miss  Kemble's  baby  passed  the  crisis  and  recovered. 
And  then  the  mother,  worn  out  with  the  double  strain, 
caught  a  little  chill  that  became  a  blinding,  choking  cold. 
She  went  through  the  Saturday  matine'e  in  a  whisper, 
but  the  night  performance  was  beyond  her. 

And  now  at  last  Daphne's  chance  arrived.  The  Sat- 
urday-night house  was  enormous  in  spite  of  the  heat. 
There  were  enough  people  there  to  make  fourteen  hundred 
dollars — twenty-five  hundred  on  the  day. 

Daphne,  trudging  to  the  theater  for  her  usual  stupid  re- 
buff, walked  into  this  crisis  of  her  life. 

Reben  himself  knocked  at  her  dressing-room  door  where 
Miss  Winsor  was  helping  her  with  her  make-up.  He 
implored  her  to  be  calm,  and  he  was  so  tremulous  that  he 
8  225 


stuttered.  He  told  her  that  if  she  made  good  he  would 
let  her  play  the  part  till  Miss  Kemble  got  well.  He  would 
pay  her  a  handsome  bonus.  He  would  put  her  out  at  the 
head  of  a  Number  Two  company  next  season. 

Batterson  came  at  last  and  ordered  him  off  the  stage. 
Reben  obeyed  him.  Then  Batterson  talked  to  her.  He 
told  her  that  there  was  no  reason  to  fear  the  house. 
A  Saturday-night  audience  was  always  easy.  It  wanted 
its  money's  worth !  It  would  help  to  get  it. 

He  told  her  a  story  to  prepare  her  for  the  view  of  the 
house:  "Gus  Thomas,"  he  said,  referring  to  the  dis- 
tinguished playwright,  "was  telling  me  once  why  he  is 
always  so  easy  when  he  makes  a  speech.  'I  was  at  a 
county  fair  once,'  he  says,  'and  one  of  the  men  says, 
"Come  with  me,  and  I'll  show  you  the  greatest  sight  you 
ever  saw,"  he  says,  and  he  took  me,'  Gus  says,  'to  a  hall 
where  they  had  ten  thousand  tomato-cans  in  a  pyramid. 
He  was  disappointed  because  I  didn't  get  excited,'  Gus 
says.  '  "Isn't  it  wonderful?"  '  he  says.  '  "But  it  don't 
seem  to  mean  much  to  you,"  '  he  says  to  Gus,  and  Gus  says, 
'"As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  doesn't.  I  shouldn't  be  greatly 
impressed  by  a  single  tomato-can,"'  says  Gus,  '"so  why 
should  I  get  excited  over  ten  thousand  tomato-cans?" 
And  he  said  that  was  how  he  felt  when  he  faced  a  big 
audience.  '  I  shouldn't  be  afraid  of  any  one  person  there,' 
Gus  says,  'so  why  should  I  be  afraid  of  a  thousand  per- 
sons?' I've  kind  of  lost  the  gist  of  it  and  there's  every- 
thing in  the  way  Gus  tells  it.  But  you  see  what  I  mean, 
don't  you?" 

"I  see,"  said  Daphne.  "I'm  not  afraid  of  the  au- 
dience." 

"Then  what  on  earth  are  you  afraid  of?" 

"I'm  afraid  of  me!" 

Batterson  laughed  scornfully.  "Oh,  you!  You're  go- 
ing to  score  a  knock-out.  You're  going  to  make  a  big 
hit!" 

"Yes,"  said  Daphne,  "so  you've  always  told  me." 

226 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

There  was  something  dreadful  about  her  calm.  It 
baffled  him  and  it  astounded  Miss  Winsor.  Old  Mrs. 
Vining  tried  to  mother  the  girl,  but  fell  back  thwarted  by 
Daphne's  unholy  repose.  She  was  like  a  race-horse 
groomed  for  a  big  handicap.  Since  all  the  odds  were 
against  her,  her  victory  would  be  the  more  thrilling.  But 
she  should  have  been  wildly  restive,  reckless,  plunging, 
almost  unmanageable.  It  was  the  worst  of  omens  that 
she  was  unruffled,  sedate,  thoughtful. 

The  curtain  rose.  Miss  Winsor  and  the  young  man 
skipped  on  to  their  job ;  the  butler  stalked;  Eldon  entered 
and  made  his  exit.  Mrs.  Vining  spread  her  skirts  and  sailed 
on,  then  Eldon  went  back.  Finally  Daphne's  cue  came. 

She  was  startled  a  little  as  Batterson  nudged  her 
forward.  She  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it  on  her  new 
career  to  make  her  public  debut  with  the  all-important 
"How  d'  you  do?" 

She  saw  before  her  the  drawing-room  in  a  weird  light. 
Beyond  it  was  a  fiercely  radiant  fog  and  beyond  that  an 
agglomeration  of  faces — the  mass  of  tomato-cans  that  she 
was  not  going  to  be  afraid  of. 

And  she  was  not  afraid.  She  was  curious  to  study 
them.  She  was  eager  to  remember  her  lines.  And  she 
remembered  them.  The  cues  came  more  or  less  far  apart 
and  each  evoked  from  her  mind  the  appropriate  answer. 
She  made  never  a  slip,  and  yet  she  began  to  realize  that 
Mr.  Eldon  seemed  unhappy. 

At  length  she  realized  that  the  audience  was  strangely 
quiet.  A  sense  of  vaulty  emptiness  oppressed  her.  She 
went  on  with  her  lines.  She  understood  at  last  that  she 
was  getting  no  laughs.  She  was  not  provoking  those 
punctuating  roars  that  Sheila  Kcmble  brought  forth. 
The  audience  had  evidently  had  a  hard  week. 

She  decided  that  she  must  be  playing  too  quietly;  she 
quickened  her  tempo  and  threw  more  vivacity  into  her 
manner.  She  moved  briskly  about  the  scene,  to  Eldon's 
bewilderment.  He  seemed  unable  to  find  her, 

227 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

But  the  audience  grew  still  more  quiet.  Then  it  grew 
restless.  She  heard  some  one  coughing,  then  several 
coughing.  It  seemed  that  every  one  had  caught  cold 
suddenly.  She  lifted  her  voice  to  drown  the  com- 
petition. 

When  at  length  it  came  time  for  her  exit  she  remembered 
clearly  how  Sheila  Kemble  had  drawled  part  of  her 
speech,  opened  the  door  a  little,  murmured  the  finishing 
words,  and  slipped  out.  Such  delicacy  would  plainly 
never  do  with  these  Saturday-night  cattle,  Daphne  was 
sure,  so  she  read  her  last  line  with  vigor  as  she  moved  out. 
And  she  slammed  the  door  to  give  emphasis  to  the  joke. 
The  door  resounded  as  in  an  abandoned  home.  The  ap- 
plause that  Sheila  Kemble  always  won  did  not  follow 
Daphne  off. 

She  caught  an  expression  of  sick  fatigue  on  Batterson's 
face.  Miss  Winsor  ran  to  her  and  said,  with  forced  en- 
thusiasm : 

"Splendid!  You  were  wonderful!  You  didn't  miss  a 
line." 

Daphne  felt  the  dubious  compliment  this  was  and  an- 
swered, "But  I  missed  every  laugh." 

"Oh,  you  can't  expect  to  do  everything  at  once." 

Batterson  said,  "You're  all  right."  But  there  was  a 
funereal  gloom  in  his  tones. 

She  knew  that  he  was  trying  to  buoy  her  up.  She  had 
all  the  rest  of  the  evening  to  get  through. 

She  went  through  to  the  bitter  end  and  spoke  every 
line.  But  the  audience  was  not  with  her  for  a  moment. 
She  used  all  her  intellect  to  find  the  secret  of  its  pleasure, 
but  she  could  not  surprise  it.  She  tried  harder  and 
harder,  acted  with  the  intense  devotion  of  a  wrestling-bout, 
but  she  could  not  score  a  point. 

The  company  looked  worried  and  fagged.  The  audience 
would  not  rise  to  anything — humor,  pathos,  thrill.  When 
the  play  was  over  every  one  seemed  to  avoid  her. 

She  rubbed  off  her  make-up  and  resumed  her  mufti. 
228 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

* 

As  she  walked  out  on  the  darkened  stage  she  saw  Batter- 
son.  He  tried  to  escape,  but  she  checked  him. 

"Tell  me  frankly,  Mr.  Batterson,  what  was  the  matter 
with  my  performance  to-night." 

"Come  to  the  office  Monday  and  we'll  have  a  little 
talk." 

"And  I'll  get  my  notice." 

"I  didn't  say  that." 

"But  you  meant  it.     Anyway,  tell  me  the  truth." 

"Who  knows  the  truth?  I  don't.  If  you  want  my 
opinion,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

"  I  do  want  it.     Be  honest  with  me." 

"My  honest  opinion  is  that  your  undoubted  charms 
and  gifts  are  peculiarly  suited  to  somewhere  else  than  the 
stage.  I  did  not  see  one  glimmer  of  theatrical  intuition 
or  suggestion  in  your  performance  to-night." 

"Can't  I  acquire  them?" 

"You  might — in  a  thousand  years.  But  I  doubt  it. 
It's  no  insult  to  you,  Miss  Kip;  we  can't  all  have  all  the 
gifts.  I'm  a  good  stage-manager,  if  I  do  say  it,  but  every- 
body says  I'm  a  rotten  bad  actor.  I  know  all  about  it, 
but  I  can't  do  it.  You're  the  same  way,  I  fancy." 

"What  would  you  honestly  advise  me  to  do?" 

"I  understand  that  you  don't  have  to  act.  Go  home 
and  get  married." 

"I  won't." 

"Then  go  home  and  don't  get  married." 

"I  won't  go  home." 

"There's  one  other  place  to  go.     Good  night." 

He  walked  off,  and  she  was  left  alone.  The  last  scene 
had  been  struck  and  piled  up  against  the  back  wall  as  the 
fire  laws  required.  The  stage-hands  had  gone.  The  last 
of  the  actors  had  gone.  The  doorkeeper  was  in  his  little 
alley. 

She  had  the  stage  to  herself.  She  stood  in  the  big  void 
and  felt  alien — forever  alien.  She  shook  her  head.  This 
place  was  not  for  her.  She  had  been  tried  in  the  balance 

229 


and  found  wanting.  She  wondered  if  there  were  anywhere 
a  balance  that  she  could  bring  down. 

She  felt  useless,  purposeless,  and  very  much  alone. 
She  went  out  and  bade  the  doorkeeper  not  "Good  night!" 
but  "Good-by!" 

She  dreaded  the  forlorn  journey  home  to  her  dreary 
room.  As  she  stepped  out  of  the  door  some  one  moved 
forward  with  uplifted  hat.  It  was  Tom  Duane.  He 
looked  very  spick  and  span.  His  smile  illumined  the  dull 
street  and  his  hand  clasped  hers  with  a  saving  strength. 
It  lifted  her  from  the  depths  like  a  rope  let  down  from  the 
sky. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

DAPHNE  would  have  been  more  content  if  Duane  had 
been  Clay  Wimburn.     It  was  Clay's   duty  to   be 
there  at  such  a  time,  of  all  times. 

Of  course  he  did  not  know  that  this  night  was  to  be 
crucial  for  her,  but  he  should  have  known.  Mr.  Duane 
knew.  Some  instinct  had  told  him  that  she  would  be 
desperately  blue  and  peculiarly  in  need  of  help.  If  any- 
body had  to  throw  her  a  rope  it  should  have  been  her 
betrothed.  If  he  did  not  feel  her  need  of  him  and  did 
not  carefully  happen  to  be  there,  perhaps  it  was  because 
he  was  not  mystically  suited  to  be  her  soul  companion, 
after  all. 

And  perhaps  Mr.  Duane  was  divinely  indicated.  At 
that  age  girls  are  apt  to  believe  that  the  selection  of  their 
lovers  is  a  matter  which  is  keeping  Heaven  up  of  nights. 
They  find  hints  and  commands  in  little  things;  nearly 
everything  is  an  augury. 

If  a  Roman  general  would  postpone  a  battle  because  a 
sheep's  liver  was  larger  on  the  right  than  on  the  left  side, 
it  is  small  wonder  if  a  susceptible  girl  pays  regard  to  the 
astonishing  fact  that  one  man  instead  of  another  comes 
at  her  unvoiced  wish,  like  a  familiar  angel — or  demon. 

It  never  occurred  to  Daphne  that  Reben  had  warned 
Duane  of  the  debut  of  his  protegee  and  had  invited  him — 
in  fact,  had  dared  him — to  watch  the  test  of  her  abilities. 

All  she  knew  was  that  Duane  was  proffering  homage 
and  smiles  and  the  prefaces  of  courtship.  Daphne  might 
have  failed  to  gain  the  hearts  of  her  audience,  for  all  her 
toil,  but  here  was  a  heart  that  was  hers  without  effort. 

231 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Perhaps  Duane  was  her  career.  He  was  at  least  an 
audience  that  she  could  sway.  And  she  was  miserably  in 
need  of  some  one  that  would  pay  her  the  tribute  of  sub- 
mission. 

So  now  when  he  said,  "Won't  you  let  me  take  you  home 
in  my  car?"  she  could  hardly  snub  a  Heaven-sent  mes- 
senger. 

She  said, ' '  Thank  you — you're  very  kind — but —  Oh,  all 
right!"  And  she  bounded  in.  She  did  not  have  to  slink 
home.  She  was  translated  in  a  chariot.  It  was  pleasant 
to  move  in  a  triumphal  vehicle  up  Broadway  where  she 
was  accustomed  to  walk  or  take  a  street-car  or  a  dingy 
taxicab. 

The  night  was  triumphantly  beautiful.  She  noted  with 
reluctance  how  swiftly  the  dragon  of  speed  devoured  the 
space  between  her  and  her  apartment  cell. 

When  Duane  said:  "You  must  be  hungry  after  all  that 
hard  work.  Aren't  you?"  she  said,  "Yes,  I  guess  I  am — 
a  little." 

When  he  said,  "Where  shall  we  eat?"  she  answered, 
"Anywhere." 

"Claremont?"  he  suggested. 

This  startled  her,  gave  her  pause.  Yet  there  was 
something  piquant  about  the  proposal. 

Satan  or  Raphael  had  whispered  to  her  an  invitation 
to  revisit  the  scene  of  her  late  humiliation  with  Clay. 
With  Duane' s  magic  purse  there  would  be  no  danger  of  a 
snub  from  the  waiters;  with  his  own  car  there  would  be 
no  risk  of  footing  it  home. 

There  were  many  respects  that  made  her  recoil  from  the 
suggestion,  but  there  were  others  that  made  it  attractive. 
She  did  not  speak  till  he  urged  again. 

"Claremont?" 

Then  an  imp  of  mischief  spoke  for  her,  and  said,  "All 
right!" 

Duane  told  the  chauffeur  and  the  car  shot  like  a  javelin 

232 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

from  the  lighted  street  into  the  deep  forest-night  of  Central 
Park. 

What  would  Clay  say?  But,  after  all,  he  had  failed  her 
in  a  crisis.  Perhaps  he  had  turned  his  heart  elsewhere. 
Men  were  impatient,  vindictive,  fickle. 

On  the  shadowy  paths  that  bordered  the  roadways 
park  benches  were  aligned.  On  nearly  all  of  them  shad- 
owy men  were  embracing  ghost-girls.  Perhaps  one  of  the 
men  was  Clay  Wimburn.  Her  heart  winced  with  jealous 
fear.  But,  after  all,  she  had  freed  him  from  their  be- 
trothal. 

And  in  freeing  him  had  she  not  freed  also  herself? 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

AT  half  an  hour  before  midnight  a  large  part  of  the 
amorous  population  of  Central  Park  has  usually  dis- 
persed to  its  several  homes.  But  on  warm  evenings  there 
are  numerous  lingerers,  pitiful  couples  who  have  no  other 
place  for  their  communion  than  a  bench  of  Spartan  up- 
holstery with  a  patrolman  for  chaperon. 

In  the  lamplight  the  parties  to  these  courtships  may 
prove  to  be  laborers  and  shop-girls,  street-car  conductors 
and  housemaids,  but  in  the  bosky  dusk  they  have  the 
investiture  of  poetry.  They  sit  locked  in  each  other's 
arms,  mutually  enhanced  and  deceived  by  the  gloom. 
The  Park  is  a  huge  nursery  of  romance,  with  no  less  of 
good  fruit  and  no  more  evil  than  the  small-town  verandas 
and  the  country  lanes. 

Duane  must  have  felt  the  influence  of  so  much  love- 
making,  for  the  car  had  not  gone  a  great  distance  before 
his  heart  was  uneasy — normally  uneasy. 

He  tried  to  word  his  feelings  as  diplomatically  as  pos- 
sible lest  he  startle  Daphne,  and  as  softly  as  possible  lest 
he  entertain  the  chauffeur: 

"Just  remember,  please,"  he  said,  "that  it's  only  my 
promise  that  keeps  me  from — from —  Well,  I  wish  you 
would  release  me.  This  moonlight  is  stronger  than  I  am. 
You  aren't  really  hard-hearted  enough  to  make  me  keep 
my  distance,  are  you?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  am!"  Daphne  answered,  with  some  asperity. 

She  did  not  like  the  implication.  He  had  not  spoken 
the  definite  words,  but  he  had  groped  for  them.  "Hug" 
and  "kiss"  and  "spoon"  are  such  coarse  terms  for  such 

234 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

delicate  deeds  that  they  almost  contradict  what  they 
define. 

In  broad  daylight  or  before  a  crowd  only  a  frantic  fool 
would  commit  the  tender  nonsense  that  a  man  must  be 
very  foolish  or  craven  or  very  honorable  not  to  commit  in 
the  gloaming  and  the  solitude.  Words  are  like  light ;  their 
flash-lamps  throw  out  in  stark  realisms  what  shadow  had 
draped  into  romance. 

Duane  should  have  waited  longer  and  let  the  moonlight 
carry  his  hand  to  Daphne's.  If  there  had  been  any  chance 
for  him,  or  if  she  had  been  lonely  and  forlorn  enough, 
then  she  could  have  consented  to  the  handclasp  or  crept 
into  his  arm  for  a  little  shelter.  But  his  words  had  ruined 
the  chance. 

He  spoke,  and  she  could  only  answer  with  denial. 
Perhaps  that  was  why  he  spoke.  Perhaps  he  meant  to 
lay  that  promise  like  a  sword  between  them. 

But  whatever  his  motive,  as  soon  as  he  opened  the  sub- 
ject she  closed  it.  For  the  rest  of  the  journey  he  sat  as 
far  from  her  as  the  seat  permitted,  and  he  left  her  to  the 
mercy  of  her  thoughts  and  the  moon. 

The  moon  was  potent.  She  gave  light,  but  not  too  much 
of  it — a  kind  of  tremulous,  luminous,  shadowy,  silvery 
bloom.  The  moon  does  not  care  who  they  are  that  wan- 
der together  in  her  meadows.  As  magnetism  grips  and 
weds  any  two  bits  of  iron  that  come  within  reach  of  its 
outstretched  hands,  so  under  the  moon's  sway  dalliance 
becomes  a  need,  a  demand  as  much  as  thirst  under  a 
broiling  sun. 

Daphne  sat  in  her  corner,  brooding  on  her  plight. 
The  moon  numbers  women  among  her  best  clients,  and 
Daphne —  But  there  is  an  old  tradition  that  forbids 
one  to  regard  what  is  called  a  good  girl  with  any  mercy. 
Foibles  are  not  permitted  to  her.  She  is  never  tempted. 
She  has  not  even  the  glory  of  conquering  a  temptation,  for. 
she  must  never  feel  one. 

235 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Perhaps  it  is  advisable  that  this  tradition  should  be 
preserved,  though  it  must  work  a  cruel  injustice  on  those 
noble  women  who  have  themselves  to  fight  as  well  as  the 
world,  and  who  grow  strong  by  conquest  or,  better  yet, 
prove  their  wisdom  in  conversing  with  temptation  only  at 
long-distance  rates. 

But,  however  it  may  be  with  heroines  and  saints,  the 
average  woman  is  just  as  amorous  as  the  average  man, 
just  as  mischievous,  and  in  her  own  way  nearly  as  ad- 
venturous. It  is  one  of  the  most  arrant  hypocrisies  of 
fiction  and  one  of  the  worst  venerable  lies  of  custom  to 
pretend  that  a  woman  is  always  overpowered  by  a  man's 
strength  or  lured  by  his  wiles,  deceived  by  his  false 
promises  or  betrayed  by  her  own  superlative  altruism. 

Now  that  women  are  swapping  their  privileges  for  their 
rights,  they  must  claim  the  lofty  honor  of  being  responsible 
for  their  own  sins — at  least  as  far  as  anybody  is  responsible 
for  anything. 

In  all  the  other  realms  of  nature  the  female  considers 
and  compares  and  selects.  In  the  scheme  of  nature  de- 
sire, ambitious  desire,  was  just  as  important  to  Daphne's 
soul  as  to  any  male's. 

There  is  nothing  wicked  or  unwomanly  about  this.  The 
woman  who  does  not  try  to  love  to  her  own  advantage  and 
her  imaginable  children's  advantage  is  a  dolt,  or  a  wanton, 
or  both.  If  she  is  to  choose,  she  must  sometimes  change ; 
she  must  sometimes  select  the  best  man  available  until  a 
better  comes  along,  then,  in  the  period  allowed  to  her, 
she  must  relinquish  her  option  on  the  earlier  and  offer 
herself  to  the  better. 

And  all  this  involves  a  certain  amount  of  legitimate, 
business-like  cunning  and  plotting  and  pondering.  It 
takes  place  behind  the  screen  of  her  face,  which  is  her  shop 
window.  She  decides  in  the  office  of  her  soul  to  mark  her- 
self up  for  select  custom,  or  moderately  as  a  staple  article 
for  the  general  trade,  or  at  so  much  off  for  shop-wear  or 
factory-flaws. 

236 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  Kip  was  no  heroine  of  fiction.  She  was  an 
average  girl  of  the  twentieth  century  with  a  little  more 
than  the  average  independence  and  initiative. 

It  is  impossible  to  know  what  she  was  thinking  in  that 
long  ride  through  the  moon-enchanted  glades  of  Central 
Park  with  a  most  attractive  young  man  sitting  idle  at  her 
side.  It  would  be  impertinent  to  assume  that  she  felt,  as 
he  did  and  as  the  disappointed  chauffeur  did,  that  it  was 
a  terrible  waste  of  a  g' earning  opportunity.  It  would  be 
outrageous  to  imagine  her  thinking  Duane  what  he  may 
have  thought  himself — a  ninny  for  keeping  any  mere 
parole  given  under  duress. 

It  would  be  a  basely  cynical  insolence  to  wonder  if  she 
were  not  realizing  the  manifest  truth  that  the  man  she 
had  been  (but  was  not  now)  engaged  to  was  absent  and 
unsympathetic,  and  the  man  she  was  with  was  handsomer, 
richer,  more  considerate,  more  gallant,  more  profitable  in 
every  way  as  a  companion. 

If  Daphne  had  been  assailed  by  any  such  thoughts 
surely  she  would  have  been  horrified  by  them.  She  must 
have  dismissed  them  with  shame;  she  could  only  have 
resolved  that  this  young  man  was  a  dangerous  neighbor 
and  one  to  be  avoided. 

It  is  unsafe  to  say  more  than  that  the  ride  was  long  and 
beautiful,  and  that  no  caresses  were  attempted,  no  words 
exchanged.  The  bored  chauffeur,  whose  wind-shield  served 
as  a  perfect  mirror,  saw  nothing  in  it  but  a  young  man  and 
a  young  woman  clinging  to  the  opposite  extremes  of  a 
leather  divan  drawn  through  the  woods  at  thirty  miles  an 
hour. 

When  Claremont  was  reached  and  Duane  handed  Miss 
Kip  out  he  noted  that  her  hand  was  hotter  than  his  own 
and  a  little  quick  to  escape,  her  face  was  flushed,  and  her 
lips  parted  as  if  with  excitement.  He  assumed  that  the 
speed  of  the  ride  and  the  tang  of  adventure  were  to  blame. 

The  head  waiter  and  all  the  crew  received  Mr.  Duane 

237 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

with  distinction  and  served  him  with  alacrity  when  he  was 
seated  at  the  best  of  the  vacant  tables.  It  was  the  same 
table  he  had  occupied  with  Miss  Kemble  and  Mr.  Reben. 

A  vast  amount  of  water  had  flowed  through  the  deep 
valley  of  the  Hudson  since  that  night  when  Daphne  had 
sat  in  the  same  scene  and  watched  poor  Clay  Wimburn 
quarrel  with  the  waiter  and  fish  out  the  last  of  his  money. 
A  vast  amount  of  experience  had  flowed  through  the  deep 
valley  of  her  soul  since  then  and  she  had  drifted  on  the 
current  many  miles  from  where  she  had  been  then. 

Duane  and  the  head  waiter  collaborated  earnestly  over 
an  ideal  supper.  When  it  was  selected  Duane  turned  to 
Daphne  to  ask: 

"And  what  wine?" 

"None,  thanks!" 

"Oh,  a  little!" 

"I'd  rather  not.     I  never  do." 

"But  I'm  as  thirsty  as  the —    I'm  thirsty." 

"You  have  what  you  want.     I  really  never." 

He  ordered  for  himself,  but  not  a  half-bottle.  Then 
he  gave  her  the  floor  with  a  brisk  and  kind-hearted  false- 
hood: 

"Now  tell  me  all  that  happened.  I  tried  to  be  there, 
but  I  had  an  engagement  I  couldn't  break,  and  I  got 
round  just  as  the  curtain  was  falling.  Was  it  a  great 
success?" 

This  was  diplomacy  on  his  part.  He  had  been  present 
at  her  debut,  and  had  been  tormented  by  her  failure. 
But  he  had  taken  none  of  that  comfort  which  we  are  said 
to  find  in  the  misfortune  of  our  friends.  He  had  blamed 
her  no  more  for  her  inability  as  an  actress  than  he  would 
have  blamed  a  rose  for  not  being  a  sword.  He  had  suf- 
fered agonies  at  her  peculiar  inappropriateness  to  the 
stage,  and  he  had  had  no  answer  for  Reben's  taunts  when 
the  curtain  dropped  on  her  fiasco. 

But  he  had  felt  the  impulse  to  help  her  through  the 
aftermath  of  her  humiliation,  and  he  had  gone  to  the 

238 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

stage  door  to  lie  in  wait  for  her.  His  motive  was  one  of 
exquisite  kindliness. 

If  after  his  kindliness  had  led  him  to  her  rescue  his 
flirtatiousness  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  and 
urged  him  to  console  her  with  lover-like  attentions  that 
was  not  the  fault  of  the  kindly  part  of  him. 

It  was  the  Samaritan  Duane  that  now  offered  her  the 
chance  to  sustain  her  pride.  When  she  surprised  him  by 
telling  him  the  truth  he  was  thrown  into  confusion. 

While  the  waiters  were  serving  the  supper  and  while 
he  was  attacking  it  with  the  frank  appetite  of  honest 
hunger,  she  recounted  the  evening's  disaster  as  calmly  as 
if  it  were  the  story  of  somebody  else.  In  fact,  she  was 
standing  off  and  regarding  herself  with  the  eyes  of  an 
alien.  We  change  so  fast  that  the  persons  we  were  yester- 
day are  already  strangers,  and  their  acts  the  acts  of  dis- 
tant relatives.  Her  calm  was  really  the  numbness  of 
shock.  The  anguish  would  come  to-morrow. 

"I  can't  understand  myself  at  all,"  Daphne  said.  "I 
went  through  every  one  of  the  motions,  but  I  couldn't 
reach  the  audience  once.  I  was  like  a  singer  with  a  bad 
cold  singing  in  a  foreign  language — you  don't  know  what 
the  song  is  all  about,  but  you  know  that  it  never  quite 
gets  on  the  key." 

He  tried  to  help  her:  "Oh,  the  first  performance  is  no 
test.  You  were  so  excited  that  you  weren't  yourself." 

"That's  just  the  trouble,"  Daphne  protested.  "I 
wasn't  excited  and  I  was  myself.  If  I  could  have  been 
somebody  else — the  character  I  was  playing,  or  an  imita- 
tion of  Sheila  Kemble  playing  it,  I  might  have  come  some- 
where near  something.  But  I  couldn't  throw  myself  into 
it.  I  couldn't  throw  myself  away.  Part  of  me  kept  say- 
ing: 'This  is  all  nonsense.  Those  children  out  there  are 
all  grown  up.  You  can't  fool  them  with  your  make- 
believe.'  You  see,  I've  got  no  imagination.  I  never  had. 
I'm  terribly  matter-of-fact." 

"Well,  that's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,  if  it's  true," 

239 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

said  Duane.  "It's  refreshing  to  find  a  woman  who  isn't 
always  pretending,  or  playing  a  part — if  you'll  forgive  the 
insult  to  your  sex." 

"Insult?  It's  flattery.  I  don't  think  we  women  have 
half  as  much  imagination  as  you  men.  We  may  be  tricky 
and  underhanded,  but  that's  not  imagination,  and  it's 
only  good  for  selfish  purposes.  It's  because  our  life 
is  laid  out  for  us  so,  that  a  woman  has  to  do  so  much 
double-dealing  to  succeed.  But  I'll  never  succeed  that 
way." 

"Then  you  can  succeed  by  being  just  your  own  delight- 
ful self." 

"  But  who's  going  to  pay  me  for  being  my  own  delightful 
self?" 

"Pay  you?" 

"Yes.  I've  got  to  earn  some  money.  I've  just  gone 
bankrupt  as  an  actress." 

"You  mustn't  be  discouraged." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  must !  I  couldn't  be  an  actress  in  a  thousand 
years." 

"Of  course  you  could.  The  test  wasn't  fair,  I  tell  you. 
You  were  thrown  into  a  very  difficult  role  and — to  take 
your  version  of  it — it  was  too  much  for  you  at  first. 
That  sort  of  light  comedy  mixed  with  simple  pathos  is 
twice  as  hard  as  Shakespeare  or  Ibsen  or  any  of  those 
literary  fellows." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  it,  because  if  I  couldn't  succeed  in  a 
big  way,  I  want  to  know  it  now.  If  I'd  had  any  ability 
it  would  have  shown  through  somewhere.  I  was  simply 
bad  from  start  to  finish.  Mr.  Batterson  told  me  so  him- 
self." 

Duane  felt  the  truth  of  this,  but  it  hurt  him  to  have  her 
feel  it.  It  offended  his  chivalry  to  realize  how  impolite 
fate  could  be  to  so  pretty  a  girl.  He  hated  to  see  her  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  proving  how  plucky  she  could  be. 
He  tried  to  find  an  escape  for  her.  He  said: 

"You're  far  too  good  for  the  stage." 

240 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"I  don't  believe  that  for  a  minute,"  she  protested. 
"But  I've  got  to  find  something  I  can  do." 

"What  do  you  intend  to  try  next?"  he  said,  liking  her 
immensely  better.  Common  sense  was  really  very  becom- 
ing to  her. 

" I  don't  know,"  she  said.     "I  haven't  thought." 

"What  line  of  work  seems  to  appeal  to  you?" 

"This  sort  of  thing,"  she  laughed.  "Eating  beautiful 
food  in  a  beautiful  landscape.  I'm  too  tired  to-night  to 
care  for  anything  else.  To-morrow  I'll  be  more  alive." 

"May  I  help  you  to  decide?" 

"  If  you  only  would !    But  I'm  getting  to  be  a  nuisance." 

"You  are  a — a — to  me  you  are  a — well,  you're  not  a 
nuisance." 

He  dared  not  tell  her  what  she  was,  especially  as  the 
waiter  had  set  the  bill  at  his  elbow  and  was  standing  off 
in  an  attitude  of  ill-concealed  impatience  for  the  tip, 
which  he  knew  would  be  large.  Mr.  Duane  always  gave 
the  normal  ten  per  cent,  and  a  bit  extra.  He  tipped 
wisely  but  not  too  well,  knowing  that  an  extravagant  tip 
wins  a  waiter's  contempt  almost  more  than  none  at  all. 

Daphne  was  not  too  tired  to  note  that  Duane  signed 
the  check  or  that  the  dollar  bill  he  laid  on  the  plate  came 
from  a  fat  wallet.  The  waiter  was  distinctly  articulate  in 
his  thanks.  He  leaped  to  pull  Daphne's  chair  out  from 
under  her  and  nodded  ferociously  to  another  waiter  to  lay 
her  light  wrap  over  her  shoulders.  Another  waiter  ex- 
tracted Duane's  chair  from  under  him.  All  the  waiters 
fell  back  and  bowed  and  beamed  lovingly.  The  head 
waiter  fairly  cooed  "Good  night"  and  almost  gave  them  a 
blessing.  Somehow  Daphne  was  reminded  of  a  bishop 
watching  a  bridal  couple  march  away  from  the  altar. 

She  flushed  to  remember  how  she  and  Clay  had  left 
this  room.  Her  feet  ached  to  remember  that  trudge  down 
the  endless  Drive.  The  starter  had  Mr.  Duane's  car 
waiting  for  him  at  the  curb,  and  lifted  his  hat  with  one 
hand  as  he  smuggled  a  quarter  away  with  the  other.  He 

241 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

stepped  in  to  lay  the  linen  lap-robe  over  their  knees  with 
reverence,  closed  the  door  exquisitely,  and  murmured, 
"Good  night!" 

The  car  was  an  aristocrat ;  it  floated  from  the  curb  with 
a  swanlike  sweep. 

Passing  Grant's  Tomb  was  not  the  formidable  task  it 
had  been  on  foot.  Soon  they  were  in  the  deeps  of  the 
Drive.  The  trees  masked  them;  low  branches  flaunted 
leaves  caressingly  about  them.  The  moon  drifting  down 
behind  the  opposite  hills  peered  under  the  branches, 
glittered  on  the  river,  and  seemed  almost  to  say,  "Is 
there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Mr.  Duane?" 

There  was  something  so  exultant,  so  uplifting  about  the 
occasion  that  Daphne  felt  an  almost  cathedral  music  in 
the  air. 

She  thought  of  Clay  and  herself  plodding  homeward. 
She  seemed  to  see  them  or  their  wraiths  staggering  dis- 
consolately along.  She  felt  very  sorry  for  them.  Here 
was  a  chance  to  save  one  of  them — both  of  them,  in  fact; 
for  in  taking  her  financial  burden  from  Clay's  shoulders 
she  would  be  twice  strengthening  him.  If  she  were  to 
accept  Duane  as  her  husband  then  her  problems  would  be 
solved — and  Clay  would  be  free  of  her. 

Of  course,  Mr.  Duane  had  not  asked  to  be  her  husband. 
He  had  not  even  hinted  at  a  wish  to  be  more  than  her 
lover — or  not  even  that — her  intimate.  But  she  was  sure 
that  she  could  win  a  proposal  from  him  if  she  tried. 

To  be  Mrs.  Tom  Duane;  to  step  into  the  society  of 
society;  to  lift  her  father  and  mother  from  a  position  of 
meekness  in  Cleveland  to  a  post  of  distinction  in  New 
York;  to  solve  at  once  all  the  hateful,  loathsome,  belittling 
riddles  of  money;  to  be  the  bejeweled  and  feted  and 
idolized  wife  and  mistress  of  this  young  American  grand 
duke;  to  buy  that  impossible  trousseau,  or  better;  to  live 
in  a  New  York  palace  instead  of  a  flat ;  to  go  about  in  her 
own  limousine  instead  of  an  occasional  taxicab;  to  be 
fortune's  darling  instead  of  a  member  of  the  working- 

242 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

classes,  struggling  along  with  bent  neck  under  a  yoke 
beside  a  discouraged  laboring-man ! 

These  were  the  things  that  ambition  whispered  to  her 
in  the  murmur  of  a  Satanically  convincing  breeze. 

And  yet  she  shivered.  She  was  afraid  of  herself  and 
the  magic  atmosphere  and  the  treachery  of  luxury. 

"You're  shivering!"  Duane  exclaimed.  "You're  not 
cold,  are  you?" 

"Yes !"  she  faltered.     It  was  a  lie,  but  a  little  white  one. 

"Won't  you  take  my  coat?"  he  urged,  reaching  for  a 
light  raincoat  folded  over  the  robe-rack. 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  said. 

In  spite  of  her  denial  he  opened  the  coat  and  put  it  back 
of  her.  His  right  hand  touched  her  right  shoulder  and 
lingered  there.  The  shadow  was  very  dense. 

His  arm  enveloped  her  as  lightly  as  the  bat-wing  of 
Lucifer.  In  a  moment  it  would  close  upon  her  and 
gather  her  to  his  breast. 

The  very  zephyr  blew  her  toward  him.  The  moon 
spread  a  soft  light  over  his  eager  face  and  made  it  strangely 
beautiful.  Lucifer  was  said  to  be  the  best-looking  of  the 
angels. 

But  the  instinct  of  flight  is  as  native  as  the  instinct  of 
surrender.  The  questioning  glance  she  shot  at  Duane 
turned  to  one  of  fear.  She  leaned  forward  out  of  the  arc 
of  his  arm  and  murmured,  "Please!"  meaning  "Please 
don't!" 

He  understood  and  sighed,  "I  beg  your  pardon!"  and, 
leaving  the  coat  on  her  shoulders,  withdrew  his  hand  and 
slipped  back  to  his  place. 

She  was  afraid  that  she  was  sorry  because  he  was  not 
bolder.  She  could  have  wept  at  her  own  unworthiness 
in  permitting  such  a  thought  even  to  fly  through  her 
mind. 

She  wanted  to  tear  off  the  coat,  but  she  had  not  the 
strength  or  the  excuse  for  that  discourtesy.  The  coat 
clung  about  her.  She  felt  that  it  was  a  mantle  of  shame, 

243 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

a  livery  of  submission.     She  kept  it  on  for  her  own  dis- 
cipline. 

She  told  herself  that  she  was  not  trustworthy.  She  was 
too  human,  too  animal,  to  be  out  alone  with  a  man.  She 
would  not  go  near  the  fire  again.  She  did  not  belong  to 
herself,  but  to  poor,  dear,  neglected  Clay  Wimburn.  She 
would  call  him  to  her  rescue. 

When  the  car  reached  her  building  she  was  resolved 
to  see  Duane  no  more.  She  could  not  tell  him  so.  After 
all,  he  had  been  everything  that  was  courtesy  and  charity. 
Even  the  little  caress  was  not  altogether  insulting.  It 
would  hardly  have  been  polite  to  treat  her  with  absolute 
indifference.  Duane  got  down  and  helped  her  out  and 
took  her  to  the  door,  which  was  locked  at  this  late  hour. 
While  they  waited  for  the  doorman  to  answer  the  bell 
she  was  paying  him  his  wages: 

"You  were  wonderfully  kind.  I  had  a  gorgeous  eve- 
ning. You  saved  my  life." 

She  had  said  more  than  she  intended — if  not  more  than 
he  had  earned. 

"Then  may  I  call  soon?" 

"Of  course." 

"To-morrow?" 

"If  you  want  to — "  This  was  going  too  far.  She  was 
not  escaping  him  at  all.  She  caught  herself:  "No,  I  for- 
got. To-morrow  I'm  busy — all  day.  It's  Sunday,  you 
know." 

"Monday,  then?" 

"I — I  think  I  have  an  engagement  Monday  evening." 

"In  the  afternoon,  too?" 

"I — well,  I'll  let  you  know." 

"Fine!  Telephone  me  at —  I'll  write  it  out  for  you. 
I'm  not  often  at  the  club  where  you  found  me,  and  my 
number  isn't  in  the  book."  He  wrote  on  his  card  his  tele- 
phone address  and  gave  it  to  her  as  the  doorman  appeared. 

Daphne  thought  that  it  did  not  look  quite  right  to  be 
seen  taking  his  card,  but  there  was  nothing  else  to  do. 

244 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  murmured,  "Don't  forget."  She  murmured,  "I 
won't."  Both  said,  "Good  night."  Then  the  doorman 
gathered  her  in,  and  hoisted  her  to  her  lowly  eyrie.  It 
was  very  different  from  where  she  would  have  gone  as 
Mrs.  Duane. 

She  let  herself  in  with  a  key.  She  supposed  that  Mrs. 
Duane  would  have  a  dozen  butlers  to  leap  at  the  door,  and 
would  march  up  a  marble  staircase  between  a  double  line 
of  footmen — or  staircase-men — or  whatever  they  called 
them  in  that  palatial  world. 

But  when  she  was  in  her  room  she  tore  his  card  to 
pieces — after  she  had  looked  at  it.  She  stared  at  her 
image  in  the  mirror.  She  hated  what  she  saw  there. 

She  vowed  to  break  her  promise  to  Tom  Duane.  She 
vowed  to  forget  his  telephone  number.  But  it  danced 
about  in  the  dark  long  after  she  had  closed  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  next  morning  she  overslept  even  beyond  the 
extra  hour  the  Chivvises  permitted  themselves  and 
the  stranger  within  their  gates  on. Sundays. 

When  Daphne  appeared  at  breakfast,  trying  not  to  yawn, 
Mrs.  Chiwis  greeted  her  with  a  voice  as  cold  and  dry  as 
the  toast,  and  as  brittle: 

"You  were  rather  late  getting  in  last  night — or  this 
morning,  rather."  Her  New  England  conscience  com- 
pelled her  to  this  reminder  of  the  inalienable  respecta- 
bility of  her  house.  Also  she  did  not  wish  her  husband  to 
be  exposed  to  the  machinations  of  a  girl  who  could  stay 
out  to  such  hours. 

Daphne's  answer  was  not  an  explanation,  but  it  was 
better: 

"Oh,  I  know  it,  Mrs.  Chiwis,  but  I  lost  my  position 
last  night.  Yes!  I  played  the  principal  part  and  killed 
it,  and  now  I'm  not  going  on  the  stage  any  more." 

Mrs.  Chiwis  was  touched.  "You  poor  child!  It 
really  is — just  too  bad!"  She  pondered,  then  she  bright- 
ened: "  I'm  sorry  you're  disappointed,  but  I'm  glad  you're 
not  to  be  in  the  theater.  It  must  be  very  wicked." 

"It's  mighty  difficult,"  said  Daphne. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  thought  a  moment  more,  then  she  said: 
"Won't  you  come  to  church  with  us  this  morning?  And 
to  Sabbath-school?  I  teach  a  class  and  so  does  my 
husband." 

"Do  they  have  Sunday-schools  and  Bible  classes  in 
New  York?" 

She  and  her  mother  had  gone  to  church  on  the  morning 

246 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

• 

of  their  first  Sunday  in  Manhattan.  Mrs.  Kip  had  per- 
fectly, though  pathetically,  betrayed  the  true  worship  of 
multitudes  of  middle-class  women  when  she  explained  to 
Daphne : 

"I  think  it  would  be  nice  to  go  to  Saint  Bartholomew's 
because  they  say  all  the  big  swells  go  there.  We  might  see 
some  of  them.  I  guess  it's  about  the  most  exclusive 
church  in  the  city." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  excluded  the  Kips.  Though  they 
arrived  in  good  season,  the  doorways  were  already  clogged 
with  a  throng  of  sightseers.  The  ushers  restrained  them 
with  difficulty  from  rushing  the  pews.  The  sights  could 
hardly  be  seen  for  the  sightseers.  The  sights  were  the 
regular  members.  Since  they  supported  the  church  and 
rented  the  pews,  their  seats  were  held  for  them  till  the 
service  began. 

Daphne  whispered  to  her  mother,  as  she  indicated  the 
crowd,  "The  play  looks  like  a  real  success." 

Her  mother  rebuked  her  with  a  glare.  But  Mrs.  Kip 
had  put  on  her  new  boots  that  morning.  She  had  also 
drawn  her  corset  cables  to  the  last  notch.  She  had  not 
expected  to  stand  up.  At  her  church  in  Cleveland  there 
was  never  any  lack  of  space. 

When  the  whisper  went  through  the  mob  that  one  of  the 
sights  was  coming  Mrs.  Kip's  respectful  bosom  swelled 
at  the  historic  name;  and  that  hurt  her  more.  But  all 
she  saw  was  a  little  shred  of  old  lady  in  black  limping 
down  the  aisle.  That  was  the  super-smart  Mrs.  van 
Vanvan  meekly  hoping  to  get  invited  into  the  still  upper 
classes  of  Jasper  Avenue. 

Mrs.  Kip  gave  up.  She  could  not  wait  even  to  hear  the 
music  or  see  how  the  swells  worshiped  their  swell  deity. 
Daphne  took  her  home  and  her  piety  expended  itself  in 
moans  of  praise  for  the  bliss  of  unshipping  her  stays  and 
extracting  her  murdered  feet  from  their  vicious  shoes. 

After  that  Daphne  had  not  gone  to  church.  People  do 
not  come  to  New  York  to  go  to  church. 

247 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

The  Chiwises,  however,  were  addicted  to  religion  and 
they  had  brought  a  letter  from  their  Congregational  place 
of  worship  in  Roxbury  to  the  church  nearest  their  new 
home.  This  proved  to  be  the  Broadway  Tabernacle, 
standing  in  an  averted  attitude,  turning  its  lofty  head 
away  from  the  noise  of  the  automobile  region,  as  well  it 
might,  for  services  in  that  wild  district  resembled  the 
smothered  hymns  of  martyrs  kneeling  in  a  Roman  arena 
near  the  lions'  cages. 

If  Daphne  had  gone  with  the  Chiwises  to  church  that 
morning  she  might  have  been  drawn  into  that  big  part 
of  New  York  existence  which  attracts  least  attention — 
the  enormous  small-town  life  within  the  metropolis. 

In  a  city,  as  in  a  sea,  the  bulk  of  the  populace  is  in  the 
depths  among  the  quiet  regions.  The  dark,  unfathomed 
caves  do  not  know  that  they  are  unfathomed,  and  they 
manage  somehow  with  their  twilight. 

They  are  not  even  aware  that  they  are  submarine. 
If  some  of  the  fish  are  solemn  and  stupid,  there  are  still 
the  sharks  and  the  slimy  monsters,  the  bright  little 
minnows,  and  the  strange  electric  batteries  and  living 
lamps. 

These  underworldlings  hardly  know  when  the  storms 
lash  the  surface,  or  what  white-plumed  billows  are  pranc- 
ing about  in  the  gaudy  sunlight.  They  only  know  of  the 
shipwrecks  when  shattered  hulks  float  down  to  the  ooze 
with  no  hint  of  what  they  were. 

The  Chiwises  belonged  among  the  submerged  villages 
and  sunken  churches  of  New  York.  Daphne  might  have 
found  with  them  equal  adventures,  for  those  Sunday- 
sclpols  have  their  wild  and  unmentionable  tragedies  as 
well  as  the  supermarine  institutions. 

But  Daphne  did  not  go.  She  said  she  had  letters  to 
write. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  sighed  at  the  lost  opportunity  to  redeem 
her,  but  she  was  one  of  those  who  believe  more  in  minding 
their  own  business  than  in  converting  others  to  their 

248 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

creeds.  She  and  her  husband  left  Daphne  to  the  Lord's 
will  and  went  about  their  Sabbath  chores. 

They  would  walk  to  church  as  if  they  heard  the  summons 
from  a  brazen  muezzin  in  a  village  belfry.  But  the  only 
bells  were  the  banging  gongs  of  the  street-cars.  The  city 
crowds  were  streaming  away  from  town  to  worship  the 
various  heathen  gods  that  set  up  their  shrines  in  Coney 
Island  and  other  beaches  and  amusement-markets. 

Mr.  Chiwis  was  in  his  most  pious  black,  and  Mrs. 
Chiwis  was  bonneted  morally.  After  they  had  gone  they 
came  back  again.  Mrs.  Chiwis  was  putting  on  her  decent 
gray  silk  gloves  as  she  said: 

"  Did  I  tell  you? —  No,  I  don't  believe  I  did — you  were 
away — but  Mr.  Chiwis  gets  his  vacation  next  week. 
He's  got  to  take  it  when  his  turn  comes.  The  man  who 
was  going  now  couldn't  be  spared,  so  we  have  to  leave 
Tuesday.  I'm  going,  of  course,  so  I  can't  give  you  your 
meals.  You  can  get  your  breakfasts  in  the  kitchenette. 
Of  course  I'll  allow  off  whatever  is  right.  You  won't  be 
too  lonely,  will  you,  with  your  brother  and  sister  in  the 
same  building?" 

"Oh  no,"  Daphne  said.     "I'll  be  all  right,  I  guess." 

"Well,  good  morning  again,"  said  Mrs.  Chiwis,  apolo- 
gizing for  squandering  two  good-mornings  when  one  should 
have  sufficed.  Then  she  went  forth  again  to  save  her  own 
soul. 

Daphne  had  not  realized  how  much  she  depended  on 
Mrs.  Chiwis  till  now.  She  was  to  be  left  alone  at  the  very 
time  when  she  was  most  in  need  of  society.  The  whole 
world  was  forsaking  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

WHEN  the  Chiwises  had  gone  Daphne  assailed  the 
task  of  composing  her  letter  of  resignation  from 
Reben's  employ.  It  was  not  easy  to  resign  with  dignity 
and  the  necessary  haste. 

She  reminded  herself  of  one  of  her  early  sweethearts  in 
Cleveland,  a  boy  who  wooed  her  stormily  when  she  was  a 
very  young  girl.  He  always  forgot  how  late  it  was  till  it 
got  late  enough  for  her  father  to  start  down-stairs.  Then 
he  would  say  in  a  loud  tone  meant  for  the  hallway: 

"Well,  I  guess  got  go.  G'  night,  M'  Skip."  He  would 
carry  his  dignity  as  swiftly  as  possible  to  the  front  door. 
Once  safely  through,  he  would  look  back  and  whisper  a 
more  leisurely,  "Goo-ood  ni-ight,  Da-aph-nee-ee !"  and 
close  the  door  with  deliberation. 

Daphne's  present  task  was  much  the  same.  She  de- 
stroyed almost  a  quire  of  her  best  paper  before  she  de- 
cided that  the  letter  which  pleased  her  least  was  the  wisest 
one  to  send.  It  said,  merely: 

DEAR  MR.  REBEN, — A  change  in  my  plans  has  compelled 
me  to  ask  you  to  release  me  from  my  contract  as  soon  as  it  is 
convenient  for  you.     I  am  sure  that  you  can  easily  find  some 
one  who  will  do  the  work  at  least  as  well  as  I  did. 
With  many  thanks  for  your  many  kindnesses, 

Sincerely, 

DAPHNE  KIP. 

She  considered  it  a  very  business-womanly  letter.  The 
only  feminine  touch  she  permitted  herself  was  the  under- 
lining of  the  "easily  "  and  the  "at  least."  She  trusted  that 

250 


THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

he  would  understand  that  she  was  sarcastic  toward  her- 
self. 

She  sent  it  off  on  Monday  morning  by  messenger.  It 
was  none  too  prompt,  for  Reben  had  already  dictated  a 
very  polite  request  for  Daphne's  head.  When  he  received 
her  letter  he  recalled  his  stenographer  and  dictated  a  sub- 
stitute for  his  first  letter.  In  this  he  expressed  his  regret 
at  learning  Daphne's  decision  to  resign ;  the  former  under- 
study had  come  back  from  the  road,  he  said,  and  would 
resume  her  work.  He  begged  Daphne  to  accept  the  in- 
closed check  for  two  weeks'  salary  in  lieu  of  the  usual  no- 
tice, and  hoped  that  she  would  believe  him  faithfully  hers. 

Daphne  felt  a  proud  impulse  to  return  the  fifty  dollars. 
She  wrote  a  letter  to  go  with  it.  She  looked  again,  and 
saw  it  was  the  first  money  she  had  ever  earned.  She 
hated  to  let  it  go.  She  decided  to  frame  it  and  keep  it  to 
point  to  in  after  years  as  the  beginning  of  her  great 
fortune. 

But  that  was  for  the  future  to  disclose.  In  the  fore- 
while  she  followed  her  struggle  to  write  Reben  with  a 
laborious  letter  to  her  father  and  mother.  This  also  was 
hard  writing.  But  it  did  not  have  to  be  so  cautious,  and 
she  was  not  concerned  about  crossings  out  and  blots  and 
mistakes  in  spelling.  It  began: 

DARLINGS  MAMMA  AND  DADDY, — Well,  I've  been  and  gone 
and  done  it!  I've  played  a  star  part  on  Broadway  and  put  out 
the  star.  I  ought  to  break  it  to  you  gently,  but  I  haven't  the 
strength.  Just  spent  two  hours  writing  my  resignation.  I 
want  to  resign  before  I'm  fired — fired  isn't  the  word,  though, 
because  if  I  had  been  fired  I'd  have  kept  my  job.  N.  B.  This 
is  a  joke.  Fact  is,  I  can't  act  for  sour  apples.  One  large 
audience  knows  it  and  now  I  know  it.  I  was  awful,  mamma, 
simply  awful! 

So  I've  written  the  manager  that  I'm  through.  I've  gradu- 
ated. I've  had  stage-fever  and  got  over  it.  But  I  won't 
resign  as  your  loving  child  and  you  won't  fire  me.  Don't  kill 
the  fatted  calf,  though,  for  the  prodigal  daughter  is  not  coming 

251 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

home.    I  may  have  to  live  on  husks  here,  but  I'm  not  coming 
home  till  I  succeed.     I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  succeed 
at,  but  I'm  going  to  die  trying. 
Bayard  and  Leila  are  well,  and — 

Her  pen  stopped.  She  really  did  not  know  how  Bayard 
and  Leila  were.  In  the  same  building,  they  were  far  dis- 
tant. Suddenly  she  felt  an  onset  of  homesickness.  She 
must  see  somebody  who  was  her  very  own. 

She  went  to  the  telephone  and  said  to  the  operator, 
"Switch  me  on  to  Mr.  Kip's  'phone,  please." 

Leila's  voice  answered,  "Hello,  stranger."  She  asked 
why  Daphne  had  neglected  them;  she  said  that  Bayard 
was  knee-deep  in  Sunday  papers,  but  was  howling  for 
Daphne  to  come  on  down. 

The  mere  knowledge  that  she  had  a  place  to  go  and  was 
welcome  there  reassured  her  so  that  she  did  not  need, 
immediate  relief.  She  said  that  she  was  busy  and  would 
come  in  during  the  afternoon. 

She  returned  to  the  writing  of  her  letter  home.  She 
felt  that  the  news  of  her  failure  would  discourage  her 
father.  To  cheer  him  up,  she  wrote  as  if  the  world  were 
but  her  oyster,  which  she  with  knife  would  open  at  her 
leisure.  But  she  put  all  the  courage  she  had  in  her  letter. 

She  had  made  one  try  at  the  oyster.  The  shell  was 
tough,  and  the  opening  small,  and  her  knife  had  slipped. 
It  had  been  too  dull  to  open  the  oyster,  but  sharp  enough 
to  cut  her  thumb. 

While  she  sat,  as  it  were,  ruefully  sucking  her  bleeding 
thumb  and  wondering  what  she  was  to  do  next,  and 
where  she  was  to  find  a  better  knife,  the  door-bell  rang. 
The  elevator-man  gave  her  a  Sunday  supplement  which 
Bayard  had  sent  up  to  her.  He  had  penciled  on  the 
margin : 

"This  may  interest  you." 

It  was  an  article  with  the  epoch-making  title,  "Women 
who  earn  $50,000  a  year  or  more." 

252 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  hugged  the  paper  to  her  heart.  This  was  just 
what  she  was  looking  for.  Fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year 
was  just  what  she  wanted  to  earn.  Still  more  would  not 
be  unwelcome.  She  remembered  and  revised  the  proverb, 
"What  woman  has  done,  woman  can  do." 

According  to  the  copiously  portraited  article  a  man  had 
said  that  he  "knew  personally  a  dozen  women  in  New 
York  who  were  earning  over  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year 
by  their  own  talents  and  industry,  and  fifty  more  who 
were  earning  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year  or  over." 

The  statement  had  been  ridiculed  and  challenged,  but 
it  was,  in  fact,  too  mild,  as  the  article  proceeded  to  prove. 
Several  playwrights  were  mentioned  whose  successful 
works  were  being  played  by  many  companies  about  the 
country  and  about  the  world. 

Daphne  made  a  note  on  a  sheet  of  paper,"  Write  a  play." 
She  would  be  a  playwright.  Everybody  else  was  one, 
and  she  might  as  well  take  a  whack  at  it. 

»The  next  category  included  the  actresses.  There  were 
many  of  these,  but  Daphne  did  not  write  "Acting"  on 
her  list  of  oyster-knives. 

There  was  a  paragraph  about  the  women  in  vaudeville, 
including  the  intangible  Tanguay  who  did  not  care  how 
much  she  earned.  But  Daphne  felt  that  her  chances  in 
the  varieties  were  slimmer  than  in  the  legitimate. 

Next,  of  course,  was  the  Golconda  of  the  films.  Every- 
body had  read  of  the  little  woman  whose  wistful  face 
had  been  fought  for  till  the  victor  signed  a  contract  to 
pay  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  a  year  for  the  privilege  of 
taking  eight  pictures  of  it  a  second.  Silence  was  golden, 
indeed,  and  speech  but  silver. 

And  there  were  other  girls  and  women  whose  features 
were  better  known  than  the  miens  of  empresses,  and  some  of 
whom  earned  more  than  Presidents  of  the  United  States. 

Daphne  wrote  down  on  her  list  the  word  "Movies." 
She  wrote  it  with  hesitance,  and  crossed  it  out  slowly, 
and  wrote  it  again,  and  drew  a  large  ?  behind  it. 

253 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  was  afraid  that  if  she  could  not  win  an  audience 
with  lines  she  would  be  still  less  likely  to  win  them  with 
dumb  show. 

She  meditated  a  solemn  while  and  then  wrote,  "See  Mr. 
Duane  about  this."  She  decided  that  she  would  go  to  a 
number  of  moving-picture  shows  and  imagine  herself  on 
the  screen,  and  see  if  she  thought  she  would  like  it.  She 
knew  that  she  would  like  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  a 
year. 

Next  on  the  bead-roll  of  plutocrats  came  the  opera 
stars  and  the  concert-singers.  For  centuries  women  had 
been  able  to  earn  fortunes  with  their  voices,  but  their 
voices  had  reached  only  to  the  back  walls  of  the  auditori- 
ums and  had  died  with  them. 

Now  their  voices  could  be  written  in.  rubber  instead  of 
air.  They  could  be  circulated  like  newspapers.  The 
singers  of  this  lucky  day  could  bequeath  their  voices  to  the 
world  and  posterity,  and  the  royalties  to  their  heirs. 

Here  was  a  young  woman,  a  wife  and  a  mother,  who 
sang  about  in  concerts  at  high  prices  and  sang  also  into 
the  large  end  of  a  megaphone  that  curiously  communicated 
with  all  the  world.  And  now  she  sang  everywhere  at 
once,  in  palaces  in  Europe,  in  farm-houses  in  America, 
in  camps  in  Alaska,  and  in  geisha-houses  of  Japan.  And 
the  article  said  that  she  had  earned  no  less  than  a  hundred 
and  twenty  thousand  dollars  in  the  last  year. 

Daphne  was  so  excited  that  she  emitted  a  few  high 
notes  of  her  own.  She  decided  that  the  world  would 
willingly  let  them  die.  She  knew  a  woman  in  Cleveland 
who  had  spent  years  and  years  and  thousands  of  dollars 
on  her  voice  and  she  was  not  ready  yet  for  public  work. 
In  fact,  she  was  speaking  in  a  whisper  the  last  time  Daphne 
saw  her. 

Daphne  did  not  write  "Opera"  or  "Concert"  on  her 
list.  Nor  did  she  write  the  violin  or  the  piano.  She 
loved  music,  but  she  knew  that  its  manufacture  was  not 
for  her. 

254 


LTHE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

The  dancers  followed.  There  were  the  Russians,  of 
course,  and  the  American  women  who  earned  so  much. 
Daphne  liked  to  dance,  and  many  young  men  liked  to 
dance  with  her.  But  as  a  life-work — she  gnawed  her 
pencil  awhile,  and  wrote,  faintly,  "Dancing"  with  another 
question-mark. 

The  novelists  were  next.  Some  of  them  were  so  suc- 
cessful that  their  names  were  household  words  and  re- 
viewers' bywords.  A  million  copies  of  this  woman's 
works  had  been  sold.  Of  that  woman's  novel,  a  quarter 
of  a  million  had  been  sold  before  publication. 

Daphne  sighed.  It  would  be  mighty  nice  to  be  a 
novelist,  and  she  imagined  that  even  Clay  would  not 
protest  at  that.  But  she  looked  into  her  waste-basket, 
where  the  self-rejected  manuscripts  of  the  note  to  Reben 
were  heaped. 

If  it  took  her  all  that  time  and  trouble  to  write  a  letter 
of  resignation,  how  long  would  it  take  her  to  construct 
a  thrilling  narrative  and  get  it  published  and  rake  in  the 
harvest  ? 

There  were  several  successful  novelists  who  had  not 
begun  to  write  till  their  middle  age.  Mrs.  Stowe  had  not 
written  her  serial  about  Uncle  Tom  till  she  was  fifty. 
It  had  been  translated  into  twenty -three  languages,  and 
had  had  more  effect  than  any  novel  any  man  ever  wrote. 

Daphne  was  unable  to  think  of  any  epochal  reform  to 
undertake  this  morning,  so  she  decided  that  she  would 
put  this  career  aside  for  the  present.  By  the  time  she 
was  forty  there  might  be  some  great  evil  for  her  to  undo. 

The  amazing  article  went  on  to  mention  portrait- 
painters,  illustrators,  designers  of  popular  statuettes,  play- 
brokers,  milliners,  dressmakers,  interior  decorators,. candy 
manufacturers,  cigarette  manufacturers,  conductresses  of 
big  schools,  hotels,  shops,  architects,  engineeresses — what 
not  ?  All  of  them  earning  big  money,  some  of  them  much 
more  than  the  glittering  fifty  thousand  and  some  less. 

Daphne  was  embarrassed  with  the  riches  of  opportunity. 
255 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

And,  indeed,  what  greater  revolution  has  there  been  in  the 
world's  history  than  the  one  for  which  this  pretty  girl 
might  have  posed  as  an  allegory?  She  sat  nibbling  a 
pencil  and  trying  to  decide  which  road  she  should  take 
toward  fame  and  fifty  thousand  a  year. 

She  was  still  in  the  clouds  when  the  Chiwises  came 
home  from  church. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

DAPHNE  finished  her  list  in  her  own  room,  and  then 
inclosed  the  article  in  a  separate  envelope  to  her 
father.  She  asked  him  to  return  it  when  he  had  seen 
how  great  a  field  there  lay  before  her.  What  more  had 
the  'Forty-niners  had  to  look  forward  to? 

She  supposed  that  there  would  be  obstacles,  but  she 
felt  that  it  would  do  her  father's  doleful  heart  good  to 
have  a  peek  at  the  big  sum  she  was  going  to  earn.  If  he 
broke  down  and  Bayard  failed,  they  could  lean  on  her ! 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  western  sky  was  turn- 
ing into  a  loom  for  crimson  tapestries  almost  as  rich  as  her 
own  dreams,  she  grew  tired  of  far-off  plans  and  went  to 
her  brother's  apartment. 

There  the  New  Girl  found  the  Old  Woman  in  the  throes 
of  finance.  Leila  had  brought  her  check-book  and  her 
bank-book  to  her  husband.  Her  affairs  were  in  a  knot. 

Her  check-book  had  been  reduced  to  a  rather  toothless 
condition,  but  she  was  sure  that  she  had  at  least  two 
hundred  dollars  left  to  her  credit.  The  hateful  bank, 
however,  had  sent  her  an  insulting  note  to  the  effect  that 
she  was  overdrawn  by  thirty-eight  cents.  She  had  re- 
ceived this  with  dignified  silence,  trusting  that  the  bank 
would  discover  its  ridiculous  blunder  and  apologize. 

She  had  kept  this  from  Bayard  till  she  had  another 
note  from  the  bank,  repeating  its  complaint  and  asking 
what  she  was  going  to  do  about  it.  She  had  kept  that 
from  Bayard,  too,  until  this  afternoon,  when  he  had 
found  her  in  a  hopeless  snarl  of  additions  and  subtractions. 

He  laughingly  offered  to  help  her.  She  was  hurt  by  his 
9  257 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

laughter,  but  not  half  so  deeply  as  he  was  by  his  discovery 
of  her  monetary  condition.  He  had  established  her  bank 
account  in  a  mood  of  adoration,  a  precious  sacrifice  on  the 
altar  of  love.  She  had  not  cherished  it,  but  scattered  it 
heedlessly.  And  money  was  peculiarly  precious  now  in 
the  final  agonies  of  the  hard  times,  when  only  the  fittest 
of  the  fittest  could  survive  the  last  tests.  Credit  was  the 
water-cask,  and  dollars  were  the  hard  biscuits  of  a  boat- 
load of  survivors  from  a  wreck.  Land  might  be  reached 
if  they  held  out,  but  self-denial  was  vital. 

Bayard  gazed  at  Leila  with  wondering  love  and  terror. 
She  was  both  divinity  and  devil  in  his  eyes.  He  groaned: 

"  Leila,  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  the  most  beautiful 
thing  on  earth  or  the  ugliest.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
hate  me  or  love  me,  and  I'm  not  sure  how  I  feel  about 
you." 

"Why,  Bayard!"  was  all  she  could  whisper. 

Like  most  women,  she  found  it  almost  as  exciting  to 
be  hated  as  to  be  loved;  she  wanted  anything  but 
a  tepid  emotion.  But  his  glare  alarmed  her  as  he 
raged  on: 

"Are  you  trying  to  wreck  me?  You  know  how  hard 
I'm  working  and  how  much  I  need  money  in  my  business 
and  how  much  it  means  to  your  future,  but  you  won't  stop 
buying  and  charging  and  burning  my  poor  little  earnings. 
We  discharged  a  stenographer  yesterday  because  we  want- 
ed to  save  her  salary  of  fifteen  dollars — and  here's  a  check 
for  a  pair  of  shoes  for  you  that  cost  sixteen." 

"I  know,  honey,"  she  pleaded,  "but  they  were  a  real 
bargain.  They  would  have  cost  me  eighteen  if  I  had  had 
them  made  to  order.  I  was  trying  to  remember  what  you 
told  me  about  being  economical." 

"Oh,  my  God!"  he  wailed,  putting  up  his  hands  as  if  to 
ward  off  madness.  He  controlled  himself  and  almost  wept 
as  he  said:  "But  you  didn't  have  to  have  'em  at  all,  did 
you?  Did  you?  You  didn't  absolutely  have  to  have 
'em?" 

258 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Oh,  of  course,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  almost  irre- 
sistibly enlarged.  "I  can  go  barefoot  if  you  want  me  to." 

"If  I  want  you  to?"  he  shrieked.  "Barefoot!  And 
you've  got  shoes  enough  in  your  closet  to  fit  out  a  centi- 
pede twice!" 

"I  hadn't  a  single  pair  that  would  go  with  the  new 
gown  I'm  having  made  at  Dutilh's." 

This  was  clever  of  her,  because  if  he  attacked  her  about 
that  he  would  be  drawn  away  from  the  shoes  and  the 
check-book.  He  refused  the  lure.  He  turned  back  to 
the  check-book  in  a  sick  croak : 

"But  tell  me  one  thing  more  before  I'm  carted  off  to 
Bloomingdale  in  a  strait- jacket.  Why,  in  Heaven's  name, 
why — admitting  you  just  had  to  have  that  pitiful  little 
pair  of  shoes — why,  when  you  wrote  the  check,  didn't  you 
subtract  it  from  your  balance  instead  of  adding  it?  I 
ask  you!" 

"Oh,  did  I  do  that?"  she  asked,  looking  over  his 
shoulder.  "So  I  did!"  and  she  put  her  cheek  close  to  his 
and  giggled. 

He  shook  his  head  in  imbecile  infatuation,  and  drew  her 
around  into  his  arms. 

"I  don't  suppose  it's  your  fault,"  he  said.  "But  I 
tell  you  if  I  ever  have  a  daughter  I'll  teach  her  arithmetic 
if  I  have  to  pound  it  into  her  head  with  a  meat-ax.  It's 
more  important  than  morals.  You  can't  make  people 
good  by  rule,  but  mathematics  is  the  same  yesterday  and 
forever." 

That  was  what  Daphne  overheard  when  the  maid  let 
her  in.  She  found  Leila  resting  in  Bayard's  lap.  She 
was  earning  her  money  in  one  of  the  oldest  ways  in 
the  world. 

Daphne  was  to  see  more  of  the  old-fashioned  careers 
that  night,  for  after  dinner  they  went  to  a  music-hall. 

Bayard  did  not  tell  Daphne  what  his  conference  with 
Leila  had  been.  He  simply  closed  the  check-book  and 
the  bank-book  and  said  to  Leila:  "I'll  send  the  bank  my 

259 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

check  for  thirty-eight  cents  and  ask  'em  to  close  their 
account.  They'll  be  mighty  glad  to  do  it." 

' '  And  so  will  I, "  said  Leila.  ' '  It  was  awfully  hard  work 
keeping  track  of  every  little  penny.  I'd  much  rather  have 
a  regular  allowance  in  cash  every  week." 

"All  right!"  said  Bayard.  "We'll  try  that— next 
week." 

Daphne  was  not  told  what  all  this  talk  was  about,  but 
she  made  a  fair  guess,  though  she  pretended  not  to. 

She  told  about  her  failure  and  her  future  and  Leila 
praised  her  courage  and  her  optimism.  They  dined  cheer- 
fully, and  Bayard  decided  that  the  best  preparation  for 
the  hard  week  ahead  of  him  would  be  an  evening  of 
gaiety.  He  invited  his  wife  and  his  sister  to  go  with 
him  to  the  Winter  Garden,  where  the  typical  "Sunday 
Concert"  of  New  York  was  given. 

The  law  did  not  permit  regular  theatrical  performances 
in  costume,  but  irregular  performances  could  be  given 
and  "costume"  was  liberally  interpreted,  except  when  a 
spasm  of  technicality  threw  the  managers  into  a  panic 
and  the  police  threatened  to  take  away  the  licenses. 

But  the  spasms  always  passed  and  the  theaters  returned 
to  their  ways.  Judging  from  the  crowds  that  thronged 
them  they  satisfied  a  public  desire,  and  that  is  what  they 
are  for. 

Every  one  of  the  two  thousand  seats  in  the  Winter 
Garden  was  filled  and  the  promenade  was  jammed. 
Bayard  had  secured  three  of  the  last  remaining  places  in 
a  crowded  box,  with  a  better  view  of  the  audience  than 
of  the  stage. 

Daphne  studied  the  multitude  of  faces.  Most  of  the 
men  were  puffing  cigars  or  cigarettes,  and  the  slashing 
calcium  beams  from  the  light-gallery  found  in  the  air 
drifting  veils  and  tufts  and  wreaths  of  smoke. 

There  was  evidently  a  kind  of  family  feeling  in  the 
Winter  Garden  audiences.  It  seemed  to  have  its  favorites, 
and  it  gave  them  stormy  welcome.  But  it  never  knew 

260 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

what  it  was  to  get,  since  the  police  consider  that  there  is  a 
sacrilege  in  the  distribution  of  printed  programs  on 
Sunday  nights.  If  the  announcements  are  made  by  a 
placard  set  on  an  easel  at  the  side  of  the  stage  that  is  more 
sacrosanct. 

Daphne  and  her  brother  and  his  wife  felt  the  quiver 
of  expectation  that  quickened  the  crowd  when  the  big 
orchestra  struck  up  an  hilarious  overture. 

The  usual  things  followed:  comedy  couples  indulging 
in  "sidewalk  conversations,"  acrobats,  a  trained  canary 
that  imitated  a  violin  more  or  less  reluctantly,  dancers, 
songsters,  more  dancers,  always  dancers,  mainly  of  the 
ball-room  steps,  all  trying  to  offer  the  insatiable  public 
some  new  quirk  for  its  own  later  use. 

But  the  distinctive  feature  of  this  place  was  the  parade 
of  the  huge  chorus  from  the  back  of  the  house,  along  a 
runway  a  little  above  the  level  of  the  heads,  thence  along 
the  orchestra  rails  to  the  stage,  and  back  again.  Along  this 
path  the  caravan  of  flesh  came  in  pompously,  bearing  spices. 

The  costume  embargo  had  been  forgotten.  There  was 
costume,  but  such  a  little  of  it  that  it  could  hardly  be  said 
to  infringe  the  law.  The  women,  varying  from  giantesses 
to  the  tiny  things  technically  known  as  "broilers"  or 
"squabs,"  came  in  dancing,  singing,  posturing,  ogling. 
Lights  were  thrown  on  them  from  various  angles  in  a 
desperate  effort  to  advertise  their  graces  yet  more  com- 
pletely or  more  mystically. 

Among  all  the  astonishing  forms  of  entertainment  the 
industry  of  revealing  the  human  figure  is  not  the  least 
astonishing.  Everybody  must  know  the  external  anat- 
omy of  mankind  fairly  well,  and  there  cannot  be  much 
mystery  about  the  general  nature  of  what  is  concealed. 
In  fact,  the  more  nearly  a  form  approaches  the  normal, 
the  more  valuable  it  is.  Oddities  and  novelties  in  human 
contour  are  looked  upon  with  pity  or  indifference  and 
confined  to  the  cheap  museums. 

Here  were  fifty  women,  of  various  sizes,  indeed,  but 

261 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

otherwise  of  a  standardized  construction  which  their  bare 
shoulders  and  bare  legs  amply  confessed  in  spite  of  a  little 
drapery  about  the  trunk.  And  here  were  two  thousand 
people  staring  at  them  with  eyes  popping  as  if  they  were 
strange  beings  from  another  planet.  Some  regarded  the 
exposition  with  apparent  excitement,  some  with  ridicule, 
some  with  moral  horror. 

Daphne  looked  upon  the  women  with  mild  contempt  and 
the  audience  with  mild  disgust.  The  posturing,  winking, 
and  hired  gaiety  of  the  women  did  not  nauseate  her, 
because  she  had  seen  so  much  of  it.  She  thought  it  rather 
tiresome.  It  amused  her  to  see  that  Leila  was  keeping  a 
jealous  watch  on  Bayard's  face,  and  that  Bayard  was 
making  a  vigorous  effort  to  look  bored. 

And  then  Daphne  caught  sight  of  Clay  Wimburn  in  the 
audience.  He  sat  next  to  a  woman  of  the  most  suspicious 
appearance. 

Daphne's  heart  stopped. 

Then  she  set  to  watching  Clay's  face  with  far  more 
anxiety  than  Leila  had  shown.  It  evidently  made  a  dif- 
ference whose  man  was  looking  at  these  dermatologists. 

The  whole  spectacle  became  suddenly  hideous  to 
Daphne.  She  was  so  appalled  at  seeing  Clay  there  that 
she  felt  appalled  at  being  there  herself.  She  began  to 
fear  the  poor  hirelings  exhibiting  themselves  as  their  own 
canvases,  sandwich-women  marching  their  own  wares  up 
and  down  the  highway.  The  mob  of  jaded  spectators 
became  a  company  of  pagans;  the  commonplace  sacred 
concert  a  Babylonian  orgy. 

She  blamed  herself  for  neglecting  Clay.  He  was  but 
human  and  she  had  broken  his  heart.  What  had  he  to 
live  for,  or  be  decent  for,  now  that  she  had  thrown  him 
over  because  of  her  own  ambitions? 

She  vowed  that  if  she  had  not  already  lost  him  to  that 
harpy  at  his  elbow  she  would  call  him  back  to  her  at  once 
and  keep  him  far  from  temptation.  If  necessary  she 
would  marry  him  out  of  harm's  way. 

262 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

T  TNDER  the  severe  test  of  Daphne's  espionage  Clay 
LJ  acquitted  himself  nobly.  She  was  harrowingly  in- 
terested in  his  reaction  toward  such  a  spectacle  and  such 
womankind,  for  it  meant  everything  to  her. 

Suddenly  her  heart  leaped  for  joy.  He  was  yawning. 
Never  before  had  that  homely  act  seemed  graceful  to  her. 
Now  it  was  salvation. 

Next,  she  saw  that  the  woman  next  to  him  was  speaking 
to  the  man  at  her  other  elbow.  Clay  was  manifestly 
wedged  in  among  strangers.  She  wanted  to  fly  across 
space  and  kiss  him  on  his  saintly  brow. 

When  the  intermission  came  he  rose  and  sidled  out 
into  the  aisle.  She  lost  sight  of  him  in  the  general  exodus 
for  the  promenade  and  the  refreshment-rooms  up-stairs. 
Bayard  suggested  that  Leila  and  Daphne  might  like  to 
walk  about  a  bit,  but  Leila  said:  "No,  thank  you!  Not 
among  those  people!" 

After  the  long  interval  the  crowds  poured  back  and  the 
performance  went  on.  But  Clay's  seat  stayed  empty. 
Daphne  missed  him,  but  she  was  consoled  at  the  thought 
that  he  had  not  remained  for  what  followed. 

She  did  not  know  that  he  had  seen  her  when  she  first 
came  in,  and  that  his  conduct,  whatever  it  might  have  been 
in  ignorance  of  her  presence,  was  based  upon  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  was  there. 

His  hurt  pride  and  his  jealousy  of  Duane  made  him 
stubborn,  however,  and  he  would  not  cast  one  glance  her 
way.  If  she  wanted  him  she  could  send  for  him. 

Throughout  the  second  part  of  the  performance  he  was 

263 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

standing  among  the  rail-birds  and  staring  at  Daphne 
with  a  yearning  that  overpowered  everything  except 
his  unwillingness  to  visit  her  unbidden.  But  she  did 
not  know  this. 

What  genius  lovers  have  for  tormenting  themselves 
and  each  other;  for  denying  themselves  the  simplest 
remedies  and  for  aggravating  the  fiercest  pang! 

Daphne  went  back  to  her  room  with  her  heart  as  full  of 
wounds  as  a  little  red  pincushion.  She  had  one  resolve 
in  her  head — she  would  recall  Clay  Wimburn  to  her  side, 
where  she  could  protect  him  from  the  packs  of  she-wolves 
that  ravened  the  town  at  night. 

She  thought  at  first  that  she  would  praise  him  for  his 
perfect  behavior  at  the  Winter  Garden.  Then  she  thought 
that  if  she  told  him  she  saw  him  he  would  wonder  why  she 
had  not  sent  Bayard  to  fetch  him.  Also,  it  would  prob- 
ably be  unwise  to  applaud  him  for  merely  proper  conduct. 
It  might  put  false  ideas  into  his  head.  Men  had  to  be 
managed  with  care.  The  least  little  praise  spoiled  them. 
Her  mother  had  often  said  so. 

She  decided  not  to  mention  the  fact  at  all  to  Clay  when 
she  telephoned  to  him  the  next  morning.  He  was  like 
an  exile  called  home  when  her  voice  found  him  at  his  desk 
and  gladdened  his  doldrums  with  its  song: 

"Clay  honey,  where  have  you  been  all  these  ages?" 

"Working  and  moping." 

"You  haven't  been  to  see  me." 

"Naturally  not.  You  told  me  that  I  didn't  cheer  you 
up  as  Tom  Duane  did,  and  I've  kept  away." 

"That  wasn't  very  nice  of  you." 

"It  was  the  kindest  thing  I  could  do." 

"For  yourself!" 

"I've  been  unutterably  miserable  and  lonely." 

"You  didn't  look  so  the  last  time  I  saw  you." 

"The  last  time  you —     When  was  that?" 

And  now  the  secret  had  to  be  surrendered:  "At  the 
Winter  Garden." 

264 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  could  almost  hear  him  blush.  He  stammered  as  if 
fencing.  He  was  really  trying  to  keep  from  confessing 
that  he  saw  her  there. 

"So  you  were  there!  And  who  were  you  with?"  he 
said.  "Duane?" 

"Of  course  not.     Bayard  and  Leila  took  me." 

"Oh!" 

"Who  took  you?" 

"I  was  by  myself,  and  you  know  it." 

"It  rather  shocked  me  to  see  you  there  alone." 

"Oh,  you  wanted  me  to  be  with  somebody?" 

"I  didn't  want  you  to  be  there  at  all." 

"A  fellow  has  got  to  do  something  to  keep  from  going 
mad." 

"So  has  a  girl." 

"I  supposed  Duane  had  kept  you  happy." 

"  No,  he  hasn't.     I  don't  like  him." 

There  was  a  pause,  a  kind  of  thrilling  silence  in  which 
he  seemed  to  be  finding  this  bad  news  exceedingly  good. 
After  a  time  she  realized  that  sometimes  one  is  cut  off 
and  left  dangling  in  infinite  space.  She  spoke  anxiously: 

' '  Hello !    Are  you  gone  ? ' ' 

"No— I'm  here." 

"Why  don't  you  say  something?" 

"What  can  I  say?" 

"Say  that  you'll  come  to  see  me  some  evening." 

"But  won't  I  interfere  with  your  engagements  at  the 
theater?" 

"The  engagement  is  broken." 

"What!" 

"I  was  engaged  to  my  art  and  my  art  jilted  me." 

"No!" 

"Umm-humm!  I'm  alone  and  unemployed  in  a  great 
city." 

"Great!    May  I  call  this  evening?" 

"If  you  will  take  me  out  somewhere."  She  added,  in 
exuberance,  "I'll  not  forget  my  purse  this  time." 

265 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"That's  pretty  rough,"  he  groaned.  "I've  got  money 
enough,  I  guess." 

"You've  had  time  enough  to  save  up  a  little  with  no 
old  extravagant  Me  to  spend  it  on.  Or  have  you  been 
wasting  it  on  some  other  girl?" 

"Not  guilty!  I've  been  a  club-man  of  evenings  and 
ghastly  lonely." 

This  gave  her  great  comfort.  He  chattered  on.  "You 
spoke  about  going  out  somewhere.  Of  course,  it's  for  you 
to  say,  but  I'd  rather  just  sit  around  and  talk — " 

"We  can't,  I'm  sorry  to  say." 

"Why?     Will  those  awful  Chi  wises  be  at  home?" 

"No;  it's  their  absence  that  is  the  trouble.  They're 
away  for  two  weeks,  and  I'm  all  alone  in  the  basket  of 
sawdust.  That's  why  I  can't  see  you  here." 

"Where's  the  harm?" 

"The  elevator-man  would  be  shocked.  He's  probably 
listening  on  the  telephone  now.  I  mustn't  receive  strange 
young  gentlemen  alone." 

"But  I'm  not  strange  young  gentlemen.  I'm  your 
fiance*." 

"Not  now,  honey." 

"Well,  I  used  to  be  and  I'm  going  to  be.  That  makes 
it  all  right." 

She  laughed.  "That  makes  it  all  wrong.  You  take 
me  to  the  theater  and  then  it  will  be  all  right.  Take  me 
to  something  stupid  so  that  we  can  talk  all  the  time." 

The  upshot  of  it  was  that  Clay  called  for  Daphne  and 
she  went  down  and  met  him  in  the  hall.  He  had  a  taxicab 
waiting.  When  they  were  in  it  and  the  door  closed  and 
the  car  scudding  he  flung  his  arms  about  her  and  she 
informally  forgot  that  they  were  not  formally  engaged. 
She  extricated  herself  at  length  from  his  embrace,  and 
spoke  most  sensibly: 

"You  mustn't  buy  any  more  taxicabs,  Clay.  I'm  not 
going  to  bankrupt  you  again.  After  this  we'll  walk." 

266 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  thought  that  this  economical  devotion  was  beautiful. 

They  went  to  the  Palace  music  hall;  to  another  the 
next  night.  Most  of  the  theaters  were  closed  by  the 
summer  weather  and  they  soon  exhausted  the  list  of 
those  that  were  open. 

They  walked  home  the  first  evening  under  an  appro- 
priate moon.  The  distance  seemed  hatefully  short.  Their 
conversation  had  run  on  unchecked,  but  they  were  not  yet 
talked  out. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I'd  dare  ask  you  to  go  into  the  Park," 
he  said. 

' '  Why  not  ? ' '  she  demanded.  ' '  There's  no  elevator-man 
there." 

She  was  quite  brazen  about  it — a  woman  will  go  almost 
anywhere  to  finish  her  speech. 

So  they  stepped  out  of  the  city  into  the  wilderness. 
They  walked  till  they  found  a  bench  that  was  not  pre- 
empted; then  they  joined  the  community  of  Park  wooers. 
Daphne  forgot  again  and  again  that  she  and  Clay  were 
not  engaged. 

At  length  they  sauntered  home  and  he  turned  her  over 
to  the  elevator-man.  It  was  lonely  in  the  apartment,  and 
she  was  afraid  that  a  burglar  or  somebody  would  wander 
in  by  the  fire-escape.  But  she  fell  asleep  and  even  the 
morning  sun  could  not  waken  her  when  it  broke  in  at  her 
window. 

The  program  of  that  evening  became  the  program 
of  the  week.  Clay  called  for  her,  took  her  to  dinner, 
and  then  to  the  theater,  and  then  to  the  Park,  and 
then  to  her  home. 

It  was  a  typical  New  York  courtship.  They  visited 
restaurants  of  all  degrees.  They  took  their  stomachs  on  a 
tour  of  nations — Italian,  Hungarian,  French,  German, 
Chinese,  Syrian;  even  to  an  American  restaurant. 

Sometimes  they  went  to  cabarets  for  dinner  or  for  supper 
after  the  theater.  Sometimes  they  danced.  They  danced 
in  various  places  amid  the  assorted  souls. 

267 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"All  the  gunmen  in  town  are  here,"  said  Clay,  looking 
at  the  amazing  men  in  one  place. 

"And  all  the  shoplifters,"  said  Daphne,  wondering  at 
the  women. 

In  most  of  the  dancing-halls  the  strata  were  completely 
jumbled.  But  this  was  the  practice  of  the  multitude, 
and  the  whole  world  seemed  to  be  spending  its  evenings  the 
same  way.  The  foreign  and  the  American  cities  were  at 
it;  the  smaller  cities  and  towns  and  even  the  villages 
were  jigging.  The  mania  seemed  always  to  be  waning, 
but  never  to  wane. 

At  first  the  character  of  the  crowds  disgusted  Clay  and 
Daphne.  But  by  and  by  even  Daphne  laughed  at  them. 
Soon  they  forgot  the  quality  of  the  element  they  danced 
through.  Finally  they  were  infected  with  it.  Clay 
caught  Daphne  so  close  to  him  that  they  were  like  one 
octopus. 

The  harangue  and  insinuation  or  blatant  avowal  of 
the  music  invaded  their  souls  and  bodies.  To  the  music, 
played  by  laughing  negroes  hysterical  with  epileptic 
rhythms  and  savage  uproar,  their  bodies  walked  as  one. 
They  danced  till  they  were  hot  and  flushed  and  bewildered. 
Sometimes  his  lips  would  brush  her  cheeks;  he  would 
crush  her  fingers  in  his,  and  hers  would  crush  his.  They 
went  home  in  vague  unrest. 

But  always  he  left  her  where  he  met  her — in  the  vesti- 
bule of  the  apartment-house.  She  would  go  up,  worn  out, 
to  a  night  of  sleepless  ennui,  mitigated  by  lightning  flashes 
of  burglar  fear. 

In  the  morning  she  would  wake,  now  early,  now  late, 
and  loll  abed  or  rise,  bathe,  dress,  cook  her  own  breakfast 
in  the  kitchenette,  wash  the  dishes,  and  either  sing  or  sigh, 
as  the  mood  was. 

She  made  no  progress  with  her  career,  for  she  still 
wondered  what  to  do.  So  many  careers  were  open,  and 
she  was  unready  for  all  of  them. 

268 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Often  she  went  shopping.  There  were  always  little 
things  to  buy — sewing-material,  if  nothing  else,  for  she  was 
falling  a  prey  to  the  ancient  vice  of  her  sex — needlework. 
It  was  at  least  a  time-destroyer. 

The  afternoons  she  spent  in  wandering  about  the 
bazars,  wish-shopping,  buying  nothing  but  unrequited 
longings.  Sometimes  Leila  would  invite  her  to  lunch, 
at  home  or  in  some  expensive  restaurant.  Then  they 
would  shop.  Leila  entered  each  store  swearing  she  would 
buy  nothing,  but  always  bought.  Leila  and  Bayard  took 
excursions  to  the  beaches  of  nights  and  over  the  week- 
ends, but  Daphne  would  not  leave  Clay. 

Books  helped  most.  Stretched  out  on  the  Chiwis 
divan,  she  fought  the  ache  of  time.  She  dipped  into  the 
Chiwis  volumes.  Among  them  she  found  Hardy's  Tess, 
a  classic  already,  though  just  a  little  older  than  she  was 
herself.  A  few  years  before  she  was  born  it  was  being 
denounced  as  "filthy,"  forbidden  in  libraries,  and  treated 
as  a  calamity  in  literature.  Now  it  was  as  venerable  and 
unassailable  as  Homer  or  Dante. 

Daphne  knew  nothing  of  its  history.  She  recognized  its 
epic  quality.  She  felt  the  danger  Tess  rode  into  on  Alec 
D'Urberville's  horse,  but  she  did  not  understand  the 
tragedy  in  the  foggy  night  till  she  had  read  far  past  it. 

Then  it  frightened  her.  She  had  read  little  among  the 
great  works,  and  almost  none  of  those  that  deal  with  the 
grim  commonplaces  of  existence.  The  things  that  decent 
books  leave  to  the  imagination  her  young  imagination 
supplied  with  little  accuracy.  She  had  viewed  life,  as 
it  were,  with  half-closed  eyes.  She  did  not  know  how 
large  a  part  of  life  the  books  omit.  She  did  not  want 
to  know. 

When  she  realized  what  Mr.  Hardy  was  driving  at — 
or  past — she  felt  that  he  was  a  shocking  person.  She  re- 
garded his  book  in  something  of  the  spirit  of  the  spinstral 
librarians — with  fright  as  well  as  disgust.  Their  fright 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

is  easily  explained,  but  not  their  disgust  for  those  great 
processes  by  which  their  mothers  became  their  mothers. 

Daphne,  however,  was  indignant  that  Mr.  Hardy  should 
have  called  Tess  "a  pure  woman  faithfully  presented." 
Daphne  thought  her  the  very  opposite,  and  disapproved 
so  strongly  that  she  did  not  finish  the  book — especially 
after  the  normal  sneaking  desire  to  anticipate  the  climax 
had  led  her  to  read  the  last  pages.  When  she  saw  that 
it  had  an  unhappy  ending  she  forsook  it.  She  had  sor- 
rows enough  of  her  own  without  reading  herself  deeper 
into  the  blues. 

She  took  up  other  novels  where  the  love  was  far  more 
fervidly  and  picturesquely  pictured  without  ulterior  im- 
plications. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  she  would  begin  to  dress  for  Clay. 
This  ceremony  took  a  vast  amount  of  time,  but  at  last 
she  would  be  ready  and  she  would  sit  upright  and  take 
care  not  to  mar  her  coiffure.  Eventually  the  telephone 
would  ring.  It  would  be  somebody  else,  as  a  rule.  Once 
or  twice  it  was  Mr.  Duane,  but  she  escaped  his  attentions 
on  the  plea  of  other  engagements. 

At  last  it  would  be  Clay  that  rang.  She  would  go  down 
to  meet  him.  They  would  set  out  in  search  of  dinner. 

It  was  a  purposeless  existence,  not  even  bedouin;  it 
was  pariah.  All  the  quaint  restaurants  were  alike. 
Their  quaintness  consisted  chiefly  in  the  lack  of  clean 
linen  on  the  tables  and  on  the  guests. 

"This  is  an  awful  life  I'm  leading,"  Daphne  complained 
one  evening.  "I'm  not  doing  anything  worth  while. 
I'm  sick  of  gadding.  You  and  I  have  all  the  disadvantages 
of  being  married  and  none  of  the  peace  and  comfort." 

"Lord  knows,  I'd  marry  you  to-morrow,"  Clay  groaned, 
"but  the  office  is  in  such  a  state  I  don't  know  how  long 
my  job  is  going  to  last.  And  if  I  lose  this,  Lord  knows 
where  or  when  I'll  get  another,  with  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  men  out  of  work." 

270 


DAPHNE  said,  looking  at  his  image,   "You're  migl 
adore  you."     They  kissed  each  other  and  watched  t 


isome."     Clay  said,  "You're  a  raving  beauty,  and   I 
•or's  mimicry. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  had  an  inspiration:  "Let  me  cook  for  you  to- 
morrow. We'll  have  a  little  dinner  at  my  house  all  by 
our  lonesome,  and  we'll  save  money  and  tips  and  dys- 
pepsia." 

"Fine!  Great!  Wonderful!"  said  Clay.  "But  what 
about  the  elevator-man?" 

"I'm  so  desperate  that  I  don't  care.  Besides,  if  you 
come  early  the  day  man  will  leave  after  he  takes  you  up 
and  the  night  man  won't  know  you  are  there  till  you  go." 

Clay  was  jubilant.  "And  where  shall  we  spend  the 
evening?" 

"At  home,  for  Heaven's  sake,"  said  Daphne.  "Let's 
be  human  for  once.  We  can't  be  very  congenial  if  we 
can't  spend  one  evening  together  without  going  to  some 
theater  or  movie  or  dance." 

"Nothing  would  suit  me  better,"  said  Clay.  "Can  I 
bring  anything  to  the  picnic?" 

"No.  I'll  do  the  marketing.  You  might  bring  up  one 
or  two  new  records.  The  Chiwises  have  a  phonograph, 
but  I've  played  all  their  records  till  even  Caruso's  sobs 
make  me  laugh  and  Harry  Lauder's  jokes  make  me  weep." 

So  that  was  agreed  upon  and  they  parted  in  unusual 
gaiety. 

The  next  morning  Daphne  leaped  from  her  bed  betimes. 
She  had  a  mission  in  life.  She  was  going  to  cook  for  her 
man.  She  went  to  market  and  peered  about  with  the 
fierce  suspicion  of  a  detective. 

The  only  work  of  fiction  she  read  that  afternoon  was 
the  cook-book.  She  set  the  more  deliberate  dishes  to 
cooking  before  she  dressed.  The  kitchenette  was  a  marvel 
of  compactness  and  ingenuity,  but  Daphne  found  every- 
thing perverse. 

When  Clay  rang  the  bell  she  ran  to  let  him  in  and  ran 
back  at  once  to  her  oven.  He  followed  her  into  the 
kitchenette  and  found  her  divine  in  her  apron  and  her 
smudges !  He  snatched  a  hasty  kiss  and  carried  off  one  of 
her  smudges. 

275 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  insisted  on  setting  the  table,  though  he  made  more 
trouble  than  he  saved.  He  broke  one  of  the  Chiwises' 
plates,  and  she  berated  him  in  housewifely  style.  She 
blistered  a  finger  on  the  oven  door  and  he  bound  it  up  in 
baking-soda  with  one  of  his  handkerchiefs. 

They  sat  down  at  last,  only  to  bob  up  again.  He  or  she 
had  forgotten  the  salt,  the  pepper,  a  knife,  a  fork.  She 
would  rise,  he  would  drive  her  back  to  her  chair,  run  for 
what  was  missing,  be  unable  to  find  it.  She  would  follow 
him  and  point  out  that  what  he  was  looking  for  was  right 
before  him.  Then  they  would  shriek  with  laughter  and 
return  together. 

It  was  a  delicious  repast,  and  the  burnt  taste  in  the 
soup  and  the  raw  spots  in  the  biscuits  only  improved 
them — robbed  them  of  the  professional  flavor. 

"How  wonderful  it  would  be  if  we  were  only  married," 
Clay  burbled.  "  Let's  not  wait.  I'd  love  nothing  better 
than  to  go  on  like  this.  I  could  afford  this  sort  of  thing." 

"All  right,"  she  said.  "I  can  stand  your  salary  if  you 
can  stand  my  cooking." 

"The  best  of  it  is  there  won't  be  much  to  cook,"  he  said. 

"Thanks!"  she  pouted. 

And  they  whooped  with  laughter.  It  was  glorious  that 
they  were  both  so  witty.  That  alone  was  money  in  the 
bank.  They  could  save  theater  money  by  exchanging 
jokes. 

After  the  feast  she  washed  the  dishes  and  he  helped 
her.  And  that,  being  the  first  time,  was  a  delightful 
collaboration. 

They  were  tired  when  the  work  was  done. 

He  sat  down  in  a  big  chair  at  the  window.  She  brought 
him  a  light  for  his  cigar;  he  dragged  her  to  his  lap  and 
she  cuddled  under  his  chin.  They  sat  silent  for  a  long 
time  watching  the  free  exhibition  of  the  streets,  the 
scurry  of  the  people,  the  swarms  of  cabs,  the  big  and  little 
motors  and  the  street-cars,  the  liquid  fire  of  the  electric 
signs. 

276 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Suddenly  a  rain-storm  made  a  fierce  incursion  on  the 
Circle,  the  pedestrian  crowds  dispersed,  or  stood  under 
awnings.  Still  the  cabs  went  spinning,  glistening  now 
with  wet ;  still  the  street-cars  blundered  to  and  fro. 

It  was  pleasant  to  be  indoors  and  watch  the  ravages 
of  the  weather  out  there.  At  length  they  grew  a  little 
weary  of  the  bliss  of  such  contentedness.  Daphne  was 
afraid  that  he  would  find  her  a  rather  tiresome  hostess. 
The  persistent  flash  and  fade  of  the  electric  sign  of  a  danc- 
ing-restaurant up  the  street  put  her  in  mind  of  the  records 
he  had  brought.  She  proposed  a  dance  and  he  consented 
with  zest. 

They  set  the  first  of  the  disks  on  the  machine.  It  was 
a  new  fox-trot.  They  took  the  position  and  stepped  out. 
One  or  both  took  the  wrong  foot.  There  were  collisions  of 
knees,  bruises  of  toes,  pauses  for  dispute,  duels  of  apology. 
At  length  they  fell  into  the  rhythm.  They  danced  more 
and  more  freely,  ranging  further.  The  chairs  and  the 
tables  impeded  their  orbit  and  they  moved  them  back, 
and  repeated  the  tune  again  and  again. 

Over  the  divan  hung  a  mirror  that  flung  them  glimpses 
of  their  faces  as  they  swept  by.  These  seemed  to  be 
strangers  peering  in.  At  first  Clay  and  Daphne  smiled 
at  those  alien  witnesses.  Then  they  forgot  to  smile  and 
wondered  at  each  other's  reflections. 

Now  and  then  they  paused  and  broke  out  into  laughter, 
the  uproarious  laughter  we  get  when  our  muscles  mix  us 
up.  They  stared  into  the  mirror  and  laughed  at  it. 

They  tired  of  laughing.  She  said,  looking  at  his  image, 
"You're  mighty  handsome." 

He  said,  "You're  a  raving  beauty,  and  I  adore  you." 
They  kissed  each  other  and  watched  the  mirror's  mim- 
icry. She  felt  that  this  was  a  trifle  indelicate. 

"Let's  try  the  other  record?"  she  said. 

Clay  picked  up  the  black  disk,  set  it  in  place,  fixed  a 
new  needle,  and  cranked  up  the  machine.  It  went  spin- 
ning like  a  potter's  wheel  shaping  a  strange  invisible  vase 

277 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

of  melody,  shapely  as  the  funeral  urn  carried  on  the 
shoulders  of  Andromache  when  she  was  a  slave.  They 
listened  a  moment,  then  fell  into  the  step.  It  took  them 
slowly  whirling  till  they  grew  dizzy.  The  faces  in  the 
mirror  as  they  flashed  past  were  dreamily  melancholy, 
fervid  with  young  sorrow.  The  music  said  all  the  things 
that  words  cannot  say.  It  was  the  very  soul  of  desire 
made  audible. 

Close  as  they  were,  they  were  lonely  for  each  other. 
Round  and  round  they  went,  tirelessly  round  and  round 
in  the  close  air  of  the  little  room. 

He  kissed  her  hair,  she  glanced  up  at  him  and  there 
was  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  was  dreadfully  tender.  He 
closed  her  eyes  with  his  lips.  Her  head  fell  back  and  her 
lips  were  so  close  to  his  that  he  pressed  his  lips  to  them. 
She  turned  her  face  a  little,  for  she  was  suffocated  with 
fatigue  and  panting  in  a  kind  of  anxious  terror. 

He  turned  his  cheek  to  hers  and  kissed  her  lips  again. 
She  seemed  to  smother  and  to  wish  to  cry  out.  But  she 
could  not. 

She  was  beyond-believing  dear  to  him.  Her  body  was 
soft  against  his  with  a  living,  glowing  softness  that  was 
inconceivably  delicate.  He  squeezed  one  of  her  hands  in 
his  and  her  fingers  were  mere  tendrils.  He  loved  her  with 
frenzy.  The  arm  about  her  lithe  waist  tightened  and 
clenched  till  he  was  afraid  that  he  was  cruel;  but  she 
made  no  outcry. 

So  blindly  they  drifted  that  he  whirled  her  against  the 
edge  of  the  table.  They  lost  their  poise  and  slid  along 
the  wall.  He  did  not  notice  that  her  forehead  struck  one 
of  the  scrolls  of  the  mirror.  She  would  have  fallen  if  he 
had  not  held  her.  He  was  too  dizzy  to  pause.  A  chair 
seemed  to  wheel  toward  them.  And  then  he  let  her 
sink  into  it.  But  her  arms  would  not  let  him  go  and  her 
lips  pleaded  for  his. 

Somehow  it  alarmed  him  a  little  to  see  her  pleading 
with  him.  His  eyes  turned  away  for  a  moment  from 

278 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

that  strange  look  in  hers.  He  caught  his  own  image 
peering  at  him  from  the  mirror.  He  surprised  on  that 
face  a  fearful  look  before  his  own  amazement  effaced  it. 

It  was  as  if  Cain  stared  at  Abel.  The  face  in  the  glass 
was  animal,  fierce,  scarlet,  sweating. 

He  recoiled  from  it  in  repugnance  and  hatred.  He 
turned  his  eyes  down  to  Daphne's  upheld  face.  He  saw 
a  crimson  mark  on  her  brow: 

"You're  hurt,  you're  bleeding!"  he  said. 

"I  don't  care!"  she  whimpered. 

"Daphne!" 

As  he  had  seen  Cain  looking  out  from  his  own  face,  he 
saw  a  stranger  gazing  from  Daphne's.  She  was  not  a 
girl  at  all  any  more. 

And  yet  she  was  a  girl,  too  young  to  be  despoiled. 
She  could  not  protect  herself  from  him.  She  was  at  once 
his  temptation  and  her  own.  She  belonged  to  him  and  he 
to  her.  His  love  blazed  in  him  and  made  a  furnace  of  his 
whole  frame.  But  in  the  very  core  of  the  burning,  fiery 
furnace  his  love  walked  in  white,  unscathed  as  Shadrach!  - 

He  lifted  her  hands  with  gentle  force  and  kissed  them, 
and,  as  it  were,  gave  them  back  to  her.  Then  he  dropped 
heavily  into  another  chair  and  clenched  his  knucldes 
about  his  temples  and  an  ague  of  regret  and  of  benediction 
shook  him. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  he  could  look  at  her  and  then 
only  when  he  heard  her  weeping  softly.  He  put  out  his 
hand  and  took  hers  and  held  it. 

After  a  time,  on  a  sudden  impulse,  he  went  forward 
and  knelt  before  her  and  whispered,  "Forgive  me!" 

She  threw  her  arms  about  him  and  whispered:  "No! 
Forgive  me!" 

They  understood  the  danger  they  had  escaped  and  they 
clung  together.  She  set  her  hot  forehead  on  his  shoulder, 
and  her  cheek,  more  than  velvet  soft,  burned  against  his 
own. 

Even  in  that  holy  communion  the  unreasonable  des- 

279 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

perate  flesh  renewed  its  magic.  But  they  fought  together 
for  that  vague  absent  imaginary  abstraction  called  Honor 
against  a  thousand  stinging  darts  of  instinct,  against 
thousands  of  ancestors,  against  the  implacable  demands 
of  nature,  and  the  scorn  of  consequences.  They  put 
aside  the  sweet  persuasions  of  tenderness,  the  waiting 
rapture,  the  music  of  the  blood,  and  chose  the  cold,  the 
bitter,  the  self-denying. 

Clay  realized  that  the  only  safety  was  in  flight.  He  rose 
to  his  feet  with  huge  effort.  Something  in  his  heart  told 
him  that  he  was  a  fool,  and  something  in  her  attitude 
told  him  that  she  thought  him  a  brute  to  spare  her.  He 
dared  not  kiss  her  good-by. 

He  muttered,  " I  love  you  too  much!"  and  he  ran  away. 

Daphne  sat  and  brooded  for  a  long  time,  and  wondered 
at  the  tempest  that  had  swept  her  and  all  her  anchors  out 
into  the  sea.  She  felt  remorse  and  fear  for  herself.  She 
would  have  been  Tess  if  her  lover  had  been  D'Urberville. 
She  had  always  read  and  heard  of  men  who  lured  women 
astray.  She  had  fallen  into  the  power  of  one  who  pro- 
tected her. 

She  was  crushed  by  the  knowledge  of  her  kinship  with 
the  despised  and  rejected.  But  she  had  learned  one  of  the 
bitterest  lessons  of  human  wisdom — self -distrust. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

"I  "'HE  next  day  the  Chi  wises  came  back  from  their 
1  vacation  unexpectedly  early.  They  had  found  the 
hotels  expensive  and  Mr.  Chiwis  was  afraid  that  his  job 
would  be  snatched  from  him  if  he  were  not  there  to  hold 
it  down. 

Clay  called  on  Daphne  that  evening  and  the  Chiwises 
retreated  to  their  own  room.  But  as  they  could  be  over- 
heard, it  was  evident  that  they  could  overhear,  and  the 
lovers  found  no  chance  to  say  any  of  the  things  that 
freighted  their  souls. 

The  next  night  they  resumed  their  theater-going  and 
their  Park-bench  communions.  But  this  was  only  tan- 
talization,  and  a  series  of  rainy  nights  drove  them  back 
to  the  Chiwis  parlor. 

One  evening  Daphne  said  to  Clay  in  as  low  a  voice  as 
he  could  hear:  "Mrs.  Chiwis  is  growing  uneasy,  honey, 
about  our  being  together  every  evening.  I  told  her  we 
were  engaged,  but  she  didn't  seem  convinced.  Perhaps 
you  would  let  me  wear  that  beautiful  engagement-ring 
again.  I  was  a  fool  to  give  it  back  to  you.  May  I  have 
it,  or—" 

Clay  blenched  in  misery.  "I — I'm  afraid  I —  You 
see,  I  hadn't  paid  much  on  it ;  and  last  week  I  had  an  in- 
sulting letter  from  the  jeweler.  He  threatened  to  sue  me 
and  notify  my  firm,  and  I — well,  I  had  to  send  it  back." 

He  was  so  downcast  that  she  answered  with  mock  cheer: 
"Oh,  that's  all  right,  honey;  it  doesn't  matter.  After  all, 
it's  only  a  ring.  And  we  have  each  other." 

"But  we  haven't  each  other.  This  way  of  living  is 
'281 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

driving  me  crazy.  I'll  be  all  right  as  soon  as  these  hard 
times  are  over  and  I  can  make  some  commissions.  But 
it's  so  dismal  to  wait.  Couldn't  we  get  married  and  live 
on  my  salary?" 

"I  could  if  you  could." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  so  violently  that  she  squealed. 
They  stood  aghast  at  the  effect  of  this  on  the  long-eared 
Chiwises.  He  caught  her  again  and  whispered : 

"Aw,  what  do  we  care  what  they  think?  We'll  be 
married  in  a  few  days!  You  can  tell  'em  so  with  my 
compliments." 

Daphne  neglected  to  tell  them  that  night.  The  next 
day  Clay  telephoned  to  her  that  his  firm  had  just  offered 
him  the  choice  of  accepting  half  his  salary  or  turning  in 
his  resignation.  It  was  really  impossible  for  two  to  live 
on  half  of  what  was  hardly  enough  for  one. 

Daphne  cried  a  long  while  in  her  room.  She  got  out 
her  list  of  ways  to  earn  fifty  thousand  dollars  again  and 
cried  over  that. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

IN  melodrama  the  villain  uses  all  his  wile  to  lure  the 
heroine  into  some  secluded  spot — aboard  a  lugger, 
to  the  abandoned  old  mill,  or  some  such  place  where  she 
is  almost  as  frightened  as  the  audience  is,  until  the  hero 
appears  in  time  to  thwart  the  hellish  purpose  of  the 
knave,  rescue  the  girl  from  danger,  and  bring  down  the 
curtain  in  triumph. 

In  real  life  the  true  danger  begins  when  the  curtain  falls 
and  the  hero  and  heroine  are  left  together  without  even 
a  villain  for  chaperon.  Heavenish  purposes  do  not  assure 
heavenly  results.  Hero  and  heroine  are  mutually  perilous, 
and  the  more  they  love  each  other  the  more  grave  is  their 
hazard. 

And  then,  too,  hero  and  heroine  are  getting  married 
later  and  later  in  life.  In  some  of  our  states  the  average 
woman  used  to  marry  at  the  age  of  twenty,  but  does  not 
marry  now  till  she  is  twenty-four.  That  four  years  is  a 
long,  long  time  to  hold  impetuous  youth  in  abeyance  and 
keep  the  hounds  of  spring  on  the  leash.  The  prowling 
time  of  the  male  and  the  coquetting  time  of  the  female  are 
more  and  more  prolonged. 

Of  course  marriage  itself  is  one  of  the  most  desperate 
risks  of  existence,  but  it  lacks  the  torment  and  the  fraying 
of  suspense.  The  lovers  are  permitted  to  enter  the 
laboratory  and  put  their  souls  to  the  test.  They  live 
together,  grow  acquainted  with  the  varied  selves  of  each 
other;  they  face  the  world  together  and  its  money  and  its 
problems.  They  live  together. 

But  the  poor  wretches  who  are  betrothed  are  subjected 
to  all  the  anguishes  of  yearning  and  kept  apart  by  a 

283 


THE  THIRTEENTH   COMMANDMENT 

partition  of  mere  etiquette  or  scruple  so  frail  and  so^ 
transparent  and  so  easily  removed  that  it  rather  em- 
phasizes than  diminishes  temptation. 

In  other  times  and  climes  those  who  were  to  wed  have 
been  kept  from  the  sight  of  each  other  till  the  ceremony 
itself.  Marriage  by  parental  management  has  its  curses, 
but  they  do  not  include  the  torment  of  our  civilization, 
which  sends  fiance  and  fiance'e  through  the  trial  by  ordeal ; 
demands  that  they  walk  over  hot  plowshares  with  un- 
scorched  feet. 

But  this  commonplace  is  one  of  the  many  that  nice 
novelists  do  not  talk  about.  They  leave  such  dramas  to 
the  stories  of  the  olden  saints  who  resisted  their  devils 
and  were  canonized.  The  saints  and  sinners  of  our  day 
have  the  martyrdoms  without  the  crowns. 

Daphne  Kip  and  Clay  Wimburn  were  commonplace. 
They  had  loved  in  haste  and  honorably,  and  had  raptur- 
ously made  ready  for  marriage.  She  had  honorably  and 
wisely  and  with  intelligent  love  decided  that  the  money 
poison  should  be  kept  out  of  their  life  or  prepared  against 
as  well  as  possible.  She  had  tried  to  pay  her  half  of  the 
expenses  in  the  only  way  a  modern  wife  can  really  pay 
her  way. 

There  is  much  foolish  and  futile  protest  against  the 
nowadays  woman  who  goes  into  business  outside  her  home. 
But  the  fact  is  that  it  is  her  business  that  began  it.  Her 
business  left  the  home  first  and  she  is  merely  following  it 
to  the  places  where  new  conditions  and  inventions  have 
centralized  and  mechanized  it. 

New  conditions  have  taken  her  distaff  and  her  wash- 
tub  and  her  cookery  and  gossip  into  the  woolen-mills  and 
steam-laundries  and  restaurants  and  telephone-exchanges. 
She  has  had  to  go  thither  to  do  her  necessary  work. 
Even  the  entertainers,  the  singers,  dancers,  tellers  of 
stories,  who  used  to  stir  the  seraglios  and  the  castle  halls 
have  been  gathered  into  opera-houses  and  theaters  and 
into  vaudeville  and  moving-picture  palaces. 

284 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne,  having  no  gifts  for  spinning,  cooking,  or 
laundry,  tried  the  theater.  Her  old-fashioned  lover  pro- 
tested, and  she  went,  anyway.  But  she  was  not  suited  to 
the  theater,  and  she  retreated  with  nothing  to  show  for  her 
expedition  except  her  shattered  pride  and  the  fifty-dollar 
check  for  two  weeks'  salary. 

Daphne  began  anew  to  hunt  for  work ;  work,  the  thrice 
blessing  that  kills  time  and  makes  money  and  tames 
passion.  But  the  world  seemed  to  be  full  of  every  other 
trouble  except  work.  Even  had  she  been  skilled,  as  she 
was  not,  it  would  have  availed  her  little,  since  skilled 
laborers  were  being  turned  off  by  the  thousands.  And 
unskilled  laborers  were  being  turned  off  by  the  tens  of 
thousands. 

Daphne  could  do  nothing  but  look  about  and  read 
advertisements  and  find  that  none  of  them  fitted  her 
needs  or  she  fitted  none  of  theirs.  After  a  day  of  frus- 
trated ambitions  and  wasted  energies  the  evening  would 
bring  her  lover.  He  would  come  up  from  an  office  where 
there  had  been  little  to  do  except  discuss  the  latest  failure 
in  business,  the  most  recent  slump  in  railroad  or  other 
securities,  and  the  increasing  stagnation  of  trade. 

Clay  had  saved  nothing  against  the  rainy  season. 
He  had  found  his  salary  too  small  for  his  courtship  requi- 
sites ;  now  that  his  salary  was  halved  his  courtship  had  to 
be  reduced  to  the  minimum  of  expense. 

It  was  midsummer  and  hot  and  the  town  was  morose 
and  torpid  of  evenings.  Clay  could  not  get  away  to  the 
mountains  or  the  cool  shores,  and  Daphne  would  not  leave 
town  without  him.  She  remembered  too  well  the  sirens 
that  stayed  in  the  city.  She  could  not  forget  the  caravan 
of  flesh  she  had  seen  at  the  Winter  Garden. 

Now  and  then  she  and  Clay  would  go  to  the  nearer 
beaches  for  a  Saturday  afternoon  or  a  Sunday,  but  the 
very  ocean  was  crowded  and  the  trains  to  and  from  were 
stuffed  with  tired  and  sweaty  people,  with  peasant  lovers 
whose  antics  made  romance  as  repulsive  as  its  fruition 

285 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

was  rendered  appalling  by  quarrelsome  husbands,  nag- 
ging wives,  and  sticky  children.  The  misery  of  getting 
home  annulled  what  pleasure  they  had  taken  from  ocean 
waves  or  forest  murmurs. 

Bayard  and  Leila  had  more  money  to  spend,  and  they 
made  ambitious  voyages.  But  Daphne  and  Clay  must 
swelter  with  the  other  stay-at-home  millions.  Clay  denied 
himself  even  the  two  weeks'  vacation  allotted  to  him. 
Bayard  took  his,  however,  and  carried  Leila  off  to  New- 
port, where  they  boarded  humbly,  if  expensively.  Bayard 
would  have  preferred  to  rough  it  in  the  Canadian  woods 
and  fight  muskalonge,  but  Leila  had  all  her  Paris  clothes  to 
display,  and  she  argued  that  it  was  poor  economy  to 
leave  them  in  the  trunks  since  they  were  already  paid  for. 

Bayard  smiled  at  her  quaint  finance,  but  yielded  as 
usual.  While  they  were  gone,  at  their  suggestion,  Daphne 
moved  down  into  their  apartment.  It  was  large  and 
beautiful  and,  as  Clay  said,  it  was  "not  infested  with 
Chi  wises." 

Evening  after  evening  she  and  Clay  sat  at  the  windows 
and  watched  the  doldrums  of  the  crowdless  streets,  where 
a  few  people  dawdled  about,  mopping  their  brows  or 
gaping  like  fish  on  land. 

There  was  usually  a  cool  breeze  at  Bayard's  lofty 
windows,  and  after  the  hot  days  it  was  such  a  comfort 
just  not  to  be  flailed  by  the  sun  that  Clay  and  Daphne  felt 
little  restlessness.  If  that  had  only  been  their  own  nest, 
and  they  married,  they  would  have  been  content — or  so 
they  told  themselves.  They  talked  of  the  future  to  en- 
courage them  through  the  present. 

Now  and  then  Clay  quarreled  with  Daphne  because  of 
her  obstinate  determination  to  have  a  trade  of  her  own. 
Then  they  made  up.  And  quarreled  anew — lovers'  quar- 
rels, summer  storms  that  break  the  sultry  tension  of  the 
air  and  make  peace  endurable. 

They  loved  each  other  ardently  and,  after  the  custom  of 

286 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

their  nation,  accepted  their  betrothal  as  a  full  franchise 
for  blandishments.  They  were  young  and  well  mated 
and  inflammable  and  they  kept  close  to  the  fire.  Their 
instincts  were  aware  only  that  they  were  marriageable. 
Their  instincts  were  impatient  of  too  protracted  or  too 
informal  a  courtship.  Their  long  communions  were 
agonizing  duels  between  nerves  and  intelligence,  between 
the  eager  moment  and  the  solemn  responsibility,  the 
immediate  delight  and  the  black  aftermath. 

There  was  no  one  to  see  them  or  forbid  them;  only  the 
habit  of  propriety,  the  dread  of  the  community,  the  rights 
of  the  unborn,  the  dim  tacit  claims  of  society. 

The  remembrance  of  that  evening  when  they  had 
danced  together  alone,  and  Daphne  had  forgotten  all  her 
religions,  still  filled  her  with  remorse  for  what  she  had 
almost  become.  Her  lover  had  been  just  strong  enough 
then  to  redeem  them  both  from  the  edge  of  the  abyss. 
But  there  came  a  time  when  his  strength  did  not  suffice. 
And  then  it  chanced  that  she  was  enabled  to  be  less  weak 
than  he.  Then  it  was  his  turn  to  shudder  with  remorse, 
and  to  bless  her  for  being  good.  He  whispered,  abjectly, 
"I  am  a  beast  and  you  are  an  angel." 

Her  wish  to  be  utterly  honest  with  him  forced  her  to 
confess:  "I'm  everything  but  an  angel.  I'm  not  good. 
I  didn't  want  to  be  good.  But  all  of  a  sudden  I  was 
afraid.  That's  all;  just  afraid!  I  must — I  must — I  just 
must  be  wise,  honey.  And  you've  got  to  help  me,  for  it  is 
so  dangerous  to  be  a  woman.  One  moment  of  too  much 
loving  and  she  may  drag  some  poor  little  soul  into  the 
world  to  disgrace  her  and  itself  forever.  That's  what  I 
got  to  thinking  of.  And  I  seemed  to  see  my  father's  face. 
He  was  terribly  sad.  He  seemed  to  shake  his  head  and 
beg  me  to  be  a  good  girl."  She  covered  her  eyes  with 
her  hands.  "Mamma  might  forgive  me,  because  she'd 
understand — being  a  woman;  or  she  might  refuse  to  for- 
give me  because  she  understood.  I  don't  know  how  she 
would  act.  Daddy,  though,  would  forgive  me,  I  know, 

287 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

without  understanding.  But  he  would  suffer;  he  would 
be  all  bewildered  and  beaten  down.  He'd  blame  himself 
for  not  keeping  me  at  home. 

"When  he  came  to  town  that  time  and  I  met  him  at  the 
station  and  we  had  breakfast  together  and  I  told  him  I 
was  going  to  live  alone  in  New  York,  he  was  terribly 
afraid  that  somebody  might  insult  me — some  strange  man. 
He  tried  to  tell  me,  but  he  was  so  bashful  he  couldn't. 
I  knew  what  he  meant,  and  it  scared  him  and  shocked  him 
even  to  see  that  I  knew  such  things.  I  told  him  there  was 
no  danger,  and  he  seemed  to  trust  me.  I  mustn't  go  back 
on  his  trust. 

"I  wish  I  had  a  photograph  of  him.  He  hasn't  had 
one  taken  for  years  and  years.  It  would  help  me,  for 
I've  been  in  frightful  danger.  I  am  in  danger  now." 

"And  not  from  a  strange  man,"  Clay  groaned,  "but 
from  me.  I  was  the  one  that  insulted  you." 

"No,  honey,  you  didn't  insult  me,  you  just  loved  me  too 
much.  You  mustn't.  I'm  not  good  enough  to  be  loved 
so  much.  But  I  must  be  good.  That's  the  most  im- 
portant thing  on  earth  for  anybody  to  be,  isn't  it? — just 
good." 

He  said  Amen  to  that  and  they  bowed  to  the  missing 
commandment  which  was  strangely  omitted  from  the 
Ten — the  great  Thou-shalt-not  for  the  young  and  unwed. 
It  would  be  perhaps  the  Fourteenth. 

And  so  they  agreed  that  they  must  take  care  of  each 
other's  souls.  They  would  be  very  circumspect  and 
formal. 

It  is  thus  that  little  children  sometimes  conspire  in 
behalf  of  righteousness  and  band  together  for  nobility. 
Perhaps  it  is  best  that  youth  should  be  trusted,  since 
those  who  are  ill  inclined  can  manufacture  opportunities 
under  the  very  eyes  of  jealousy. 

Daphne  and  Clay  fought  out  a  battle  that  must  be 
infinitely  frequent  in  the  unpublished  chronicles  of  love. 
They  had  seen  that  only  a  razor  edge  severs  the  pure  in- 

288 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

tention  from  the  foul  consequence.  They  decided  to 
beware  of  each  other,  to  treat  opportunity  as  a  traitor  and 
to  thwart  it. 

The  next  evening  they  took  the  Chiwises  to  a  moving- 
picture  show  at  the  little  Circle  Theater.  And  the 
evening  after  that  each  pretended  another  engagement. 

The  morning  after  that  Bayard  came  back,  alone. 
10 


CHAPTER  XL 

LEILA  had  decided  that  it  was  better  for  her  health 
to  stay  at  Newport  till  the  cooler  weather  came  and 
her  summer  wardrobe  had  been  worn  out. 

So  Bayard  joined  the  army  of  town-tied  husbands, 
the  summer  widowers.  He  went  back  once  a  week  on 
furlough  to  spend  a  Newport  Sabbath  with  his  wife.  He 
became  one  of  the  Friday-night-to-Monday-morning  ex- 
cursionists. There  was  leisure  enough  in  his  office. 

He  insisted  on  Daphne's  keeping  her  room  in  his 
apartment,  and  of  evenings  he  affixed  himself  to  her  and 
Clay  and  made  their  company  a  crowd.  But  they  wel- 
comed him  as  a  chaperon  of  a  sort.  Also,  he  paid  his  way 
with  liberality,  except  for  occasional  spasms  of  retrench- 
ment, when  he  economized  atrociously.  He  predicted 
that  good  times  would  never  come  again.  The  whole 
world  had  gone  to  pot  and  would  never  come  out. 

Suddenly  he  changed  his  tune;  suddenly  the  whisper 
went  about  that  hard  times  were  ending.  It  had  been  in- 
cessantly shouted  that  good  times  were  returning  or  had 
never  left,  but  the  shouters  were  simply  halloing  to  keep 
up  the  courage.  Now  those  in  authority  began  to  whisper 
to  one  another  slyly.  The  shrewd  began  to  sniff  the  air 
and  foresmell  the  soft  chinook  that  melts  the  snows — and 
incidentally  shovels  the  avalanches  down  the  mountain- 
sides. 

The  stock-market  ceased  to  despond.  The  prices  that 
had  fallen,  and  fallen  for  no  particular  reason,  bounded 
up  for  no  particular  reason.  They  fell  back,  but  rose 
again.  They  showed  an  inclination  to  return  from  the 

290 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

depths  to  the  surface.  As  prices  rose,  the  trading  in- 
creased. Previously  a  busy  day  had  always  been  a  day 
of  disaster;  now  the  public  began  to  glance  again  at  Wall 
Street.  Investors  were  beginning  to  visit  the  market. 
Brokers  who  had  boasted  of  the  pettiness  of  their  trade 
began  to  boast  of  its  improvement.  Their  commissions 
were  still  picayune;  thousands  of  clerks  were  still  out  of 
employment,  and  the  rest  were  kept  on  as  a  "charity,"  but 
the  Street  had  endured  so  long  a  drought  that  a  cloud  the 
size  of  a  man's  hand  was  accepted  as  proof  of  a  deluge  of 
fat  rain. 

Bayard  was  no  longer  a  silent  and  morose  companion  of 
Daphne  and  Clay.  He  began  to  talk  big  talk: 

"I  tell  you,  the  market  has  struck  bottom.  Prices 
have  got  no  place  to  go  but  up.  I  don't  believe  in  specu- 
lating, but — well,  after  all,  Wall  Street  is  the  barometer 
of  the  nation.  You  can't  stop  the  storm  by  throwing 
away  the  barometer.  But  you  can  foretell  it  by  watching. 
The  man  who  buys  now  and  holds  on  is  going  to  come  out 
rich.  It's  a  time  to  pyramid.  If  I  weren't  absolutely 
opposed  to  speculation  I'd  go  down  to  the  Street  and  buy 
everything  I  could  lay  my  hands  on  and  watch  it  soar." 

A  little  later  he  had  forgotten  that  he  was  opposed  to 
speculation.  He  quoted  prices  as  if  they  were  epigrams. 
Railroad  and  industrial  shares  assumed  a  personality. 
They  were  like  heroes  battling  for  life.  When  he  saw 
the  advance  of  some  stock  that  he  had  wished  to  buy  but 
had  not  bought,  he  felt  as  if  he  had  suffered  a  personal 
loss.  When  a  stock  that  he  favored  went  down  he  forgot 
to  credit  it  as  money  saved. 

In  his  bachelor  days,  when  Bayard  was  growing  in 
commercial  stature  like  a  young  giant,  he  had  regarded 
his  business  with  all  the  warmth  of  a  poet.  His  office- 
building  was  his  Acropolis  and  his  office  the  peculiar 
temple  of  his  muse;  and  her  name  was  Profit.  He 
thrilled  like  a  poet  to  the  epic  inspiration  of  a  big  sale, 
and  he  knew  a  joy  akin  to  the  poet's  precise  revision  of  his 

291 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

scansion  if  he  devised  a  scheme  for  reducing  overhead 
charge  or  wastage. 

When  he  had  first  entered  the  office  each  of  the  heads  of 
departments  had  a  stenographer  of  his  own.  These  ladies 
worked  hard  when  they  had  to;  but  Bayard  saw  that 
there  were  many  hours  when  they  had  nothing  to  do  but 
polish  their  nails,  read  submerged  fiction,  meditate  the 
landscape,  or  chew  the  aromatic  cud. 

He  had  been  inspired  to  suggest  a  grouping  of  these 
typists  into  a  battalion.  The  official  who  had  dictation 
to  give  pressed  a  button  and  the  first  idle  stenographer 
in  the  line  responded  with  note-book  ready.  By  this 
means  Bayard  revealed  to  his  delighted  chief  a  method  of 
reducing  the  "harem"  by  twenty-five  per  cent,  and  of 
keeping  those  who  remained  so  busy  that  they  were  never 
ennuyees.  On  other  occasions  he  pointed  out  how  to  save 
money  on  lead-pencils,  on  postage-stamps,  on  carbon 
paper,  on  envelope-addressing,  and  on  lost  motions. 

In  his  leisure  hours  at  his  club,  over  the  pool-table  or 
when  otherwise  occupied,  he  was  thinking  of  schemes  or 
carrying  out  schemes  to  increase  the  business  or  diminish 
the  expense. 

It  was  thus  that  he  had  made  himself  important  enough 
to  advance  rapidly  in  his  firm.  And  he  had  put  a  large 
share  of  his  salary  every  week  into  a  savings-bank.  With 
his  extra  commissions  and  bits  of  unexpected  luck  he  had 
bought  securities  of  impregnable  value.  These  he  had 
locked  away  in  a  safe-deposit  vault.  They  paid  him  only 
four  or  five  per  cent.,  but  they  were  as  sure  as  anything 
mundane.  And  twice  a  year  they  granted  him  the  lofty 
emotion  of  the  coupon-cutter. 

He  had  paid  cash  for  what  merchandise  he  bought  and 
demanded  special  discounts  for  it.  In  time  the  many  lit- 
tles made  a  mickle.  He  had  five  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  bonds  in  his  safe-deposit  box. 

And  then  he  married — pawned  himself  at  the  marriage- 
shop.  He  kept  his  hoard  a  secret  from  Leila.  He  had 

292 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

planned  to  add  to  it  regularly  and  surprise  her  some  day 
with  his  wealth.  But  somehow,  after  his  marriage,  he 
never  went  marketing  again  for  securities ;  he  had  no  cash 
to  pay;  he  caught  the  plague  of  charging  things.  He 
quarreled  with  Leila  bitterly  and  belabored  her  with 
axioms  of  thrift,  and  then  showed  how  completely  he  had 
forgiven  her  by  outdoing  her  in  her  own  vices. 

Once  or  twice  he  even  went  to  the  vault  and  took  forth 
the  long,  slim,  flat  bonds,  and  planned  to  put  them  up  as 
security  for  loans,  to  pay  bills  with.  But  he  shook  his 
head  over  them,  laid  them  back  to  rest,  and  let  his  creditors 
walk  the  floor.  His  hoard  was  intact,  but  his  debts  were 
increasing. 

Now  he  saw  a  chance  to  use  the  talents  that  he  had 
buried  in  a  napkin.  He  was  glad  that  Leila  was  in  New- 
port. She  was  costly  at  a  distance,  but  she  left  him  free 
to  give  his  mind  to  his  work.  One  loving  letter  a  day  and 
an  occasional  telegram  absolved  him  of  his  duty.  The  rest 
of  the  time  belonged  to  finance. 

He  filled  the  ears  of  Clay  and  Daphne  with  his  market 
jargon.  He  was  as  unintelligible  to  Daphne  as  a  mad 
Scot  talking  golfese. 

"Look  at  Q.  &  0.,"  he  would  say;  "sold  at  eighty-five  a 
year  ago.  Friend  of  mine  bought  it.  People  who  were 
in  the  know  said  it  was  going  up.  It  ought  to  have  gone 
up,  but  it  didn't.  Dropped  slowly  and  sickeningly  to 
forty-three.  To-day  it  is  forty-six.  If  I  had  gone  into 
the  market  the  other  day  with  five  thousand  dollars  and 
snapped  it  up  at  forty-three  I'd  have  cleaned  up  three 
hundred  and  a  half  in  no  time.  If  I  bought  now  at  forty- 
six  I'd  get  one  hundred  and  eight  shares  for  my  five 
thousand.  If  I  held  on  till  the  price  got  back  to  eighty- 
five,  as  it's  bound  to,  I'd  have  over  nine  thousand  dollars, 
nearly  a  hundred  per  cent.,  and  it  would  probably  go 
on  up  perhaps  to  two  hundred.  That's  bad,  eh?" 

"First  catch  your  five  thousand  dollars,"  said  Clay. 

"I've  caught  it,"  said  Bayard.  "I've  had  it  all  along." 

293 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"You  have?"  Clay  groaned.  "If  I'd  known  that  I'd 
have  borrowed  it  to  get  married  on." 

"  Oh,  would  you  ?"  Bayard  grinned.  "  To  get  married  on? 
Not  much!"  It  was  well  that  Leila  did  not  see  that  cynic 
grin.  "And  what  collateral  would  you  have  offered  me?" 

"Daphne,"  said  Clay.  "She's  a  collateral  relation  of 
yours." 

"That's  why  he  wouldn't  accept  me  as  security,"  said 
Daphne. 

They  all  laughed  furiously  at  the  brilliant  tennis  of  their 
repartee.  It  is  very  cheering  to  be  cracking  jokes  about 
dollars.  Almost  anything  is  a  good  joke  in  their  presence, 
and  almost  nothing  in  their  absence. 

"Joking  aside,"  said  Clay.  (He  was  a  well-meaning 
young  man,  but  he  was  one  of  those  who  say,  "Joking 
aside.")  "Will  you  lend  me  enough  for  Daphne  and  me 
to  get  married  on?" 

"Not  in  a  million  years,"  said  Bayard.  "When  I've 
made  a  killing  with  this  money  I'll  make  you  all  a  present, 
but  you  couldn't  pry  this  out  of  me  with  a  crowbar. 
I  wish  I  knew  where  to  borrow  more.  If  you  can  raise 
any  money,  Clay,  don't  you  spend  it  in  matrimony.  A 
fellow  can  get  married  any  time,  but  it's  only  once  in  ten 
years  that  you  can  climb  aboard  a  market  after  a  panic 
and  ride  in  with  the  tide." 

Clay  and  Daphne  thought  that  Bayard  was  a  Shylock, 
and  told  him  so,  but  they  could  not  wheedle  his  money 
from  him  for  all  their  pounds  of  flesh. 

He  went  to  his  safe-deposit  vault,  took  out  his  bonds, 
carried  them  to  the  vice-president  of  his  bank,  and 
borrowed  all  that  he  could  raise  on  the  securities.  The 
bonds  had  fallen  below  par  on  account  of  the  depression, 
but  Bayard  was  granted  eighty  per  cent,  of  their  face 
value,  minus  thirty  days'  discount  at  five  per  cent. 

His  anaemic  bank  account  was  suddenly  swollen  by 
three  thousand  nine  hundred  and  seventy-nine  dollars  and 
eighteen  cents. 

294 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  sought  out  a  broker,  a  college  friend  whom  he  could 
trust,  to  advise  him  honestly.  They  conferred  on  the 
stocks  to  buy.  The  old  dilemma  could  not  be  escaped: 
those  that  offered  the  most  profit  offered  the  most  risk. 
To  buy  on  margins  was  further  danger  with  promise  of 
further  profit. 

Yet,  after  all,  Bayard  felt,  to  buy  outright,  however 
wise,  was  tame.  Even  if  he  doubled  his  money  he  would 
have  only  eight  thousand  in  place  of  his  four.  And 
eight  thousand  was  no  fortune. 

If  he  put  up  his  entire  funds  as  a  ten-point  margin  a 
swift  rise  in  stocks  would  multiply  his  money  indefinitely. 
The  Napoleons  were  the  men  who  knew  when  to  strike, 
and  struck  hard.  Bayard  did  not  chance  to  reflect  that 
Napoleon  went  from  Elba  to  Waterloo  after  a  brief  va- 
cation. He  did  not  remember  what  an  unlucky  word 
Napoleon  is  in  Wall  Street.  He  resolved  to  be  another  of 
these  young  Napoleons. 

The  question  of  what  stocks  to  bet  on  was  a  thrilling 
one,  requiring  a  long  war  council,  but  at  length  the  dis- 
position was  made  and  he  gave  his  broker  the  command 
to  go  forward. 

The  dealings  on  the  Exchange  were  so  small  that  even 
Bayard's  money  made  an  audible  clink  as  it  struck  the 
ledge.  In  those  dull  days  when  the  brokers  earned  a 
precarious  existence  by  taking  in  one  another's  stock- 
washing  Bayard's  appearance  advertised  that  there  was 
a  hint  of  life  in  certain  quarters.  The  traders  might  as 
well  boost  those  stocks  as  any  others.  Bayard's  stocks 
began  to  sell,  to  creep  up  an  eighth,  a  quarter.  One  of 
them  rose  two  points,  fell  back  one,  and  rallied  by  the 
close  to  a  gain  of  l^-  Another  reversed  the  process. 

Bayard,  reading  his  Wall  Street  edition,  turned  to  the 
final  quotations  with  trembling  anxiety.  The  vision  of 
that  "  + 1%"  opposite  one  of  his  stocks  sent  him  so  high 
in  the  clouds  that  he  could  hardly  see  the  "— 
opposite  another. 

295 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  had  been  caught  by  the  most  thrilling  of  serial 
stories,  published  daily  and  written  by  a  host  of  uncon- 
scious collaborators. 

He  strutted  when  he  met  Daphne  and  Clay  that  eve- 
ning and  insisted  on  dining,  wining,  and  theatring  them. 
He  was  so  proud  of  himself  that  he  telegraphed  Leila  a 
bouquet  of  flowers. 

Business  at  the  factory  was  slumping  to  a  collapse,  but 
Bayard  felt  that  its  future  was  certain:  he  said  that  Wall 
Street  was  always  six  months  ahead  of  the  times.  Six 
months  later  business  would  begin  to  boom.  He  would 
let  his  office  work  slumber  and  devote  himself  to  the 
Street. 

The  market  crept  up  and  up.  Bayard  turned  his  profits 
back  into  his  speculation.  He  was  growing  rich.  He  was 
planning  works  of  lavish  charity,  works  of  art,  the  pur- 
chase of  a  great  reserve  fund  of  securities. 

Clay  once  more  offered  to  relieve  him  of  enough  of  his 
wealth  to  marry  Daphne  on.  But  Bayard  said: 

"Nope!  I'm  sorry  to  seem  such  a  tightwad,  but 
'  Business  First '  is  my  motto.  As  soon  as  I  clean  up  a  bit 
of  real  money  I'm  going  to  put  mother  in  a  position  of 
independence,  so  that  she  will  never  have  to  ask  poor  old 
dad  for  anything  again.  That  will  save  them  both  a  lot 
of  suffering  and  cut  down  the  output  of  hard  words. 
Then  I'm  going  to  make  dad  a  big  cash  present.  I've  got 
to  do  those  things  before  I  get  round  to  Daphne  and  you. 
If  I  hit  it  big  I'll  stake  you  to  the  handsomest  wedding 
Saint  Thomas's  ever  saw." 

But  Daphne  and  Clay  did  not  want  a  handsome  wed- 
ding. They  wanted  a  wedding. 

Some  years  before,  when  President  Taft  was  inaugu- 
rated, every  omen  was  fine.  The  Weather  Bureau  prom- 
ised fair  weather.  There  was  not  a  hint  of  storm  any- 
where upon  the  continent.  And  then  a  blizzard  "backed 
in"  from  the  ocean,  and  played  havoc  with  the  throngs. 

296 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

So  upon  fehe  era  of  good  feeling  and  democratic  equality 
and  civilized  peace  the  European  war  backed  in  from 
nowhere.  Nobody  expected  it ;  hardly  anybody  believed 
it,  in  spite  of  the  multitudinous  tragedies  it  brought  down 
in  torrents. 

A  young  man  from  Serbia  shot  a  grand  duke  in  Austria, 
and  the  world  heard  of  Sarajevo  for  the  first  time,  but  not 
the  last.  The  bullet  that  slew  the  Austrian  heir  mul- 
tiplied itself  as  by  magic  into  billions  of  missiles.  A 
young  shoemaker  from  Bavaria,  to  his  great  surprise, 
killed  an  old  Belgian  school-teacher  he  had  never  heard  of. 
The  school-teacher  fell  into  a  ditch  still  clasping  his 
umbrella.  The  shoemaker  moved  on  with  a  strange  ap- 
petite for  shooting. 

Refugees  in  hordes  filled  the  roads  with  a  new  Pharaonic 
exodus.  So  many  children  plodded  along  in  hungry  flight 
that  Herod  might  have  been  hunting  down  the  innocents 
again. 

The  peaceful  Belgian  army,  suddenly  leaping  to  defend 
its  borders,  was  shattered,  and  the  fragments  driven  with 
their  king  into  another  nation.  Steel-capped  fortresses 
were  knocked  to  flinders.  Churches  and  cathedrals  were 
splintered  with  unheard-of  artillery.  Convents  were 
turned  into  regimental  harems.  American  girls  at  school 
in  Belgium,  as  well  as  native  nuns,  were  made  mothers  of 
children  whose  fathers  they  could  not  name.  Whosever 
the  blame,  the  world  devoted  itself  to  waging  or  watching 
the  most  vicious,  most  inexcusable,  most  destructive 
war  in  human  record. 

With  the  moral  cataclysm  went  a  financial  earthquake. 
The  European  exchanges  flung  their  doors  shut.  The 
American  exchanges  tried  to  keep  their  shop  windows 
open,  but  had  to  close  them  down. 

Bayard  Kip  was  among  the  first  casualties.  Before  he 
could  put  in  a  stop-order  his  margins  were  gone.  He  had 
said  that  prices,  having  struck  bottom,  could  go  no  lower. 
Now  the  bottom  itself  was  knocked  out. 

297 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Prices  stopped  falling  at  last  because  of  the  closing  of 
the  markets.  Europe  established  a  general  moratorium. 
America  established  one  of  sentiment.  Everybody  owed 
somebody  else,  and  everybody  gave  tolerance  because 
everybody  needed  it. 

Night  fell  on  the  commercial  world,  a  night  illumined 
by  horrors  unknown  before.  Europe  was  one  Pompeii. 
Agonies  grew  so  numerous  and  so  enormous  that  people 
ceased  almost  to  feel  them.  Individuals  still  complained 
of  toothache  and  of  bad  cooking,  of  rain  and  of  heat 
and  of  small  tips.  Yet  there  was  unparalleled  charity 
while  America  floundered  in  a  quicksand  of  financial 
death. 

Bayard's  factory  could  not  meet  even  its  diminished  pay- 
roll. The  president  of  the  concern  could  not  borrow  a 
penny  at  the  bank  of  which  he  was  a  director.  The  fac- 
tory shut  down,  sending  all  its  workmen  into  the  hordes 
of  the  unemployed.  The  office  forces  were  reduced  to  a 
minimum  and  the  salaries  of  the  minimum  further  reduced. 
Clay  was  thrown  out  of  even  his  half -job  and  Bayard  was 
put  on  half-pay. 

Bayard  was  dazed  at  the  mockery  of  his  wisdom,  the 
sudden  ruin  of  his  slow-built  fortune.  The  war  was  one 
of  the  accidents  that  make  vanity  of  all  theories  and 
dignities  and  prides.  In  the  big  gambling-house  of  the 
universe  the  plans  of  the  wisest  were  hardly  more  certain 
than  "systems"  built  up  to  break  the  bank  at  Monte 
Carlo. 

The  one  thing  that  lightened  Bayard's  shame  and  terror 
was  the  fact  that  all  the  world  was  aghast  and  afraid. 
Greater  fortunes  and  minds  than  his  had  gone  agley. 

Bayard's  sober  thoughts  concerned  themselves  with 
extricating  himself  from  the  wreckage.  It  was  not  pos- 
sible to  debarrass  himself  of  everything.  He  could  not 
give  up  his  expensive  apartment.  It  was  leased  for  a 
year  and  a  half  more.  He  could  not  dismiss  his  expensive 
wife;  she  was  leased  for  ninety-nine  years.  He  could  not 

298 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

give  up  his  character,  his  costly  tastes,  his  zeal  for  front, 
the  maintenance  of  a  good  facade. 

The  instinct  of  lovable  bluff  was  seen  in  his  telegram  to 
Leila.  He  wanted  her  at  home  to  comfort  him,  now  that 
he  had  no  business  for  her  to  hamper.  Besides,  he  could 
not  afford  to  keep  her  at  Newport.  Out  of  his  ominously 
small  funds  he  telegraphed  her  a  liberal  sum  to  pay  her 
bills  and  her  railroad  fare  and  parlor-car  fare.  She 
telegraphed  in  answer  that  her  trunks  had  all  been  packed 
when  she  got  his  message  and  she  would  be  on  the  first 
train.  He  met  her  and  found  her  astonishingly  beautiful 
in  her  millionaire  uniform. 

He  felt  like  the  pauper  who  received  a  white  elephant 
for  a  present.  But  she  was  gorgeous  in  her  trappings. 
They  embraced  with  mutual  approval.  Pie  laughed: 

"I  was  going  to  begin  economy  by  cutting  out  the  taxi 
business,  but  I  couldn't  carry  a  Cleopatra  like  you  in  the 
subway.  You  look  like  all  the  money  in  the  world. 
And  you're  worth  it."  In  the  taxicab  he  crushed  her  to 
him  again  in  a  dismal  ecstasy  and  sighed,  gaily:  "You're 
too  grand  for  me,  honey.  I'm  busted  higher  than  a  kite. 
You  didn't  bring  home  any  change,  of  course." 

"I  did  better  than  that,"  she  beamed,  and,  being  mar- 
ried to  him,  made  no  bones  about  bending  and  disclosing 
one  entire  silk  stocking  most  elegantly  repleted.  It  was 
transparent,  translucent,  indeed,  like  gossamer  over  mar- 
ble, and  of  a  sapling  symmetry  except  for  one  unsightly 
knob  which  she  deftly  removed  and  placed  in  the  hand  of 
Bayard. 

He  did  not  need  to  glance  at  his  palm  to  tell  that  it 
was  full  of  bank-notes. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  said. 

And  she,  prim  and  proper  again,  chortled.  "That's  the 
money  you  telegraphed  me  to  pay  my  bills  with." 

"But—" 

"This  is  no  time  to  pay  bills." 

"You're  a  genius,"  he  said. 
299 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

And  she  was,  in  her  way. 

When  they  were  at  home  again  he  told  her  of  his 
ruinous  speculations.  She  did  not  reproach  him.  She 
was  gambler  enough  to  thrill  at  the  high  chance,  and 
sportswoman  enough  not  to  blame  him  for  losing  his 
stakes. 

"Don't  you  worry!"  she  said,  from  his  lap,  as  from  a 
dais.  "We'll  be  rich  yet.  You  mustn't  imagine  any- 
thing else.  There's  everything  in  thinking  a  thing  is  going 
to  happen.  I'm  too  sensitive  to  be  a  Christian  Scientist 
about  pain,  but  I  am  one  about  good  luck.  You  must 
just  tell  yourself  that  you're  going  to  come  out  all  right, 
and  you  will. 

"And  we  must  keep  up  appearances  so  that  other  people 
will  believe  in  us.  It's  the  only  way,  too,  to  keep  your 
credit  good.  I  learned  that  at  Newport.  People  who 
are  people  up  there  never  pay  their  bills.  That's  why 
they  get  trusted  everywhere,  and  have  plenty  of  cash. 
Their  creditors  don't  dare  insult  'em  or  sue  'em.  The 
only  people  who  get  sued  are  the  poor  little  dubs  that  pay 
cash  most  of  the  time  and  then  ask  to  be  trusted  when 
they're  hard  up. 

"This  old  war  will  blow  over  in  a  little  while  and  you'll 
be  on  the  crest  of  the  wave  if  you'll  only  stay  there. 
That's  where  we  must  keep,  honey,  right  on  the  crest  of  the 
wave.  The  crest  will  carry  you  along  on  itself,  but  once 
you  get  caught  in  the  undertow  you're  gone.  I'm  right! 
I  know  I  am!  Don't  you  see?  Say  you  do,  anyway,  or 
I'll  bite  your  beautiful  head  off." 

He  said  she  was,  and  retained  his  beautiful  head.  And 
there  was  a  worldly  truth  and  a  Satanic  wisdom  in  her 
creed.  In  that  subversion  of  all  standards  the  cautious 
soul  was  in  as  much  danger  as  the  reckless.  The  ship 
of  civilization  was  like  the  torpedoed  Lusitania,  crashing 
through  the  sea  on  the  momentum  of  its  disabled  engines, 
with  its  decks  atilt  and  awash,  its  life-boats  smashed  or  out 
of  reach,  and  panic  everywhere.  The  selfish  and  the 

300 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

ruthless  stood  a  better  chance  than  the  altruists  and  the 
schemers. 

This  was  the  hour  of  triumph  for  the  Leilan  school, 
but  it  was  enough  to  turn  an  orthodox  financier  into  an 
atheist  toward  the  great  god  Mammon. 

Bayard  had  rebuked  Leila  for  spending  money  on 
clothes  and  on  amusements.  But  she  had  had  the  fun; 
she  still  had  the  clothes ;  and  where  were  the  fruits  of  his 
years  of  self-denial?  Where  were  his  hoarded  earnings? 
His  few  bonds  were  irredeemably  in  pawn.  And  on  the 
roads  of  Belgium  and  East  Prussia  myriads  of  wretches 
who  had  kept  thrift  and  builded  them  houses  were  stag- 
gering along  in  hungry  penury,  fugitive  from  shattered 
homes  and  wondering  after  the  next  day's  bread. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

BAYARD  tried  Leila's  recipe  for  a  time,  but  there 
were  expenses  that  he  could  not  charge,  and  even 
the  wad  of  money  she  had  smuggled  out  of  Newport  did 
not  last  long.  Other  people  were  no  more  willing  to  pay 
bills  than  he.  Moneys  that  were  owed  to  him  he  could 
not  collect.  He  could  not  respond  to  the  multitudinous 
appeals  for  charity.  This  was  a  real  shame  in  times  of 
such  frantic  needs.  He  could  not  do  any  of  the  honorable, 
pleasant  things  that  one  can  do  with  money.  He  had  to 
do  many  of  the  dishonorable,  loathsome  things  one  without 
money  must  do. 

He  pocketed  his  pride  and  appealed  to  wealthy  friends 
for  loans,  but  usually  all  that  he  pocketed  was  his  pride. 
The  time  came  when  even  the  universal  patience  began 
to  give  out.  Far-sighted  people  who  had  invested  their 
funds  were  left  stranded  when  dividends  were  passed. 
Those  who  had  cash  to  spare  were  afraid  of  their  to- 
morrows. Asking  a  man  for  a  loan  was  like  asking  a 
man  in  a  theater  fire  to  step  back  and  let  you  pass. 

In  his  desperation  Bayard's  thoughts  reverted  to  his 
original  rescuer,  his  father.  He  had  never  appealed  to  the 
old  man  in  vain.  Bayard  had  often  promised  himself  the 
delight  of  sending  home  a  big  check  as  a  subtraction  from 
his  venerable  debt.  But  it  was  a  promise  easy  to  defer, 
in  the  face  of  all  the  other  temptations  and  opportunities. 
His  father  never  pressed  him,  never  expected  a  return  of 
the  money  he  had  been  investing  in  the  boy.  For  a  child 
is  a  piece  of  furniture  bought  on  the  instalment  plan  to 
go  into  somebody's  else  house  as  soon  as  it  is  paid  for. 

302 


MY  rings!"  Leila  cried.     "Don't  you  see!    My  dia 
some  chains  and  brooches.     They're  worth  a  lo 


mds  and  rubies!     And  I've  got  a  necklace  or  two,  and 
money.     And  you're  welcome  to  'em,  daddy." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Bayard  put  off  the  appeal  to  his  father  as  long  as  he 
dared,  but  at  last  sat  down  to  the  hateful  letter. 

He  began  with  wise  remarks  on  the  war  and  its  un- 
doubted brevity,  since  the  expenses  were  such  that  no 
nation  could  or  would  meet  them  long.  He  spoke  of  the 
temporary  closing  of  his  factory,  but  emphasized  its 
splendid  prospects  when  the  war  should  be  over.  He 
admitted  that  he  had  been  extravagant  and  luxurious  be- 
yond his  means,  but  he  said  that  he  had  learned  his 
lesson  and  would  never  again  put  his  whole  resources  in 
jeopardy. 

As  he  wrote  the  words  "Never  Again"  he  frowned  to 
think  what  a  byword  they  had  become.  The  very  music- 
halls  and  the  cartoonists  had  educated  people  to  realize 
that  he  who  says  "Never  Again"  will  soon  say  it  again. 

He  hated  to  trouble  his  poor  old  dad  at  such  a  time 
(he  wrote  with  truth),  but  his  very  life  depended  on  rais- 
ing some  immediate  money.  He  was  young  and  husky 
and  he  would  be  on  his  feet  in  a  jiffy.  He  would  pay 
back  every  cent  in  a  short  while,  even  if  he  had  to  borrow 
it  of  some  one  else.  Anyway,  in  a  few  weeks  the  panicky 
conditions  would  be  over  and  business  would  return  to 
the  normal.  He  knew,  he  wrote,  that  "Old  Reliable 
Kip"  could  perform  his  usual  miracle  and  get  blood  from 
some  of  those  Cleveland  turnips. 

He  was  so  sure  of  his  father  that  he  ended  his  letter 
with  an  advance  payment  of  thanks.  This  was  the  first 
payment  he  had  made  in  advance  for  a  long  time. 

He  liked  his  argument  so  well  and  was  so  cheered  by 
its  logic  that  he  gave  the  letter  to  Daphne  to  read.  She 
was  less  impressed  by  the  letter  than  by  her  vision  of  the 
addressee.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  at  thought  of  him. 
She  saw  him  better  through  tears. 

"Dear  old  dad,  he  never  failed  us  yet,"  she  mumbled. 
"He  never  will.  Thank  Heaven  I  didn't  buy  my  trous- 
seau. He  can  give  you  that  money." 

She  was  tasting  for  almost  the  first  time  the  delicious 

307 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

sensation  of  enjoying  money  that  had  not  been  spent. 
She  thought  of  another  stimulant  for  her  father. 

"You'd  better  add  a  postscript  saying  that  my  pros- 
pects for  a  job  are  fine." 

"At  what?"  Bayard  grunted. 

"I  don't  know  yet.  There  were  several  I  could  have 
had,  but  I  was  very  choose-y  because  it  wasn't  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  me  to  take  them.  Thank  Heaven  it 
hasn't  been  a  matter  of  starve  or — sin,  as  it  is  with  so  many 
poor  women." 

Bayard  threw  her  a  glance  of  amazement.  It  was 
strange  language  from  her  to  him.  The  thought  had 
never  entered  his  mind  that  his  sister  could  debate  such  a 
problem. 

Suddenly  he  had  a  vision  of  the  entire  possibility  of  the 
alternative.  Thousands  of  other  sisters  had  been  forced 
to  the  decision.  If  he  and  his  father  and  Clay  failed 
Daphne,  what  recourse  had  she,  seeing  that  she  had  been 
raised  to  no  trade? 

Bayard  had  another  hideous  vision  of  the  possible: 
what  if  he  failed  Leila  and  her  father  went  to  smash,  as 
he  was  always  about  to  do? — what  would  become  of  her, 
with  her  luxurious  necessities  and  her  reckless  beauty? 

Money!  He  must  get  money.  A  lot  of  it  at  once; 
enough  to  live  on,  and  a  big  reserve.  He  swore  to  himself 
that  he  would  never  again  risk  his  savings.  And  once 
more  that  "Never  Again!"  mocked  him  like  a  ribald 
echo.  His  father  must  come  to  his  aid.  Must  was  so 
urgent  that  it  became  "Would." 

He  sealed  the  letter,  put  a  special-delivery  stamp  on  it, 
and  took  it  to  the  branch  post-office  so  that  it  would 
reach  Cleveland  without  fail  the  next  morning. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  house  there  was  a  telegram 
from  home. 

Leaving  beaver  due  tomorrow  A.M.  don't  meet  me  but  be 
home  must  see  you  important  mamma  well  love 

FATHER. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Leila  had  already  opened  the  telegram  and  called 
Daphne  down  from  her  room  in  the  Chiwis  apartment. 
Daphne  read  it  and  said: 

"Eighteen  words!  He  must  be  simply  distracted  about 
something!" 


CHAPTER  XLII 

HTHE  next  morning  Bayard  rose  betimes  to  meet  his 
1  father  at  the  train.  And  Daphne  went  to  the  Grand 
Central  station  with  him.  She  remembered  the  previous 
occasion,  when  in  her  restless  ambition  to  conquer  New 
York  she  had  met  him  there  with  glib  promises.  She  had 
insisted  on  paying  his  way.  She  had  been  a  trifle  ashamed 
of  his  shabby  togs  and  his  efforts  to  grind  his  tips  exceed- 
ing small. 

Now  she  was  there  without  a  success  to  her  name. 
Her  best  hope  was  that  he  had  squeezed  his  pennies  so 
tight  that  enough  of  them  remained  to  save  Bayard  from 
poverty  and  herself  from  a  humbled  return  home. 

Just  one  thing  quickened  her  with  pride.  He  had  been 
worried  about  her  soul  and  she  had  smiled  at  his  needless 
alarms.  Now  she  knew  that  his  alarm  had  not  been  need- 
less. Her  soul  had  been  tried,  tortured  on  a  rack  of  in- 
quisitional temptations.  She  had  escaped,  not  without 
risk,  not  altogether  of  her  own  volition,  not  without  re- 
grets ;  but  she  had  escaped. 

She  had  the  right  to  wear  the  simple  glorious  laurels 
of  a  good  girl.  It  made  her  glad  beyond  words.  She  had 
not  squandered  her  money;  she  had  not  squandered  her 
integrity.  She  could  meet  her  father's  eye  with  pride  of 
victory,  if  not  of  ignorance.  That  was  worth  all  the 
harrowing  self-denials. 

She  ran  to  her  father  and  flung  her  arms  about  him,  and 
Bayard  hugged  him  and  carried  his  suit-case  for  him.  It 
was  no  time  to  be  tipping  a  porter.  Nor  to  be  making  use 
of  taxicabs  with  the  jitney  subway  at  hand.  Bayard 

310 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

lugged  his  father's  suit-case  along  Fifty-ninth  Street. 
The  hall  boy,  who  had  not  been  tipped  for  some  days, 
observed  a  strict  neutrality.  He  was  feeling  the  pinch, 
too. 

Somehow  these  economies  of  Bayard's  did  not  seem  to 
reassure  Wesley  as  they  might  once  have  done.  But 
Bayard  and  Daphne  had  agreed  not  to  talk  trouble  till 
after  breakfast.  Leila  was  a  radiant  hostess,  and  they  all 
made  as  much  of  a  hero  of  the  old  veteran  as  they  could 
with  such  mental  reservations  of  anxiety  restraining  them. 

When  the  breakfast  was  ended  Wesley  noted  that  Leila 
herself  carried  the  dishes  away,  with  Daphne's  help. 
When  the  table  was  clear  she  closed  the  door  on  the  two 
men  and  said: 

"We'll  leave  you  two  alone  to  talk  business." 

The  two  men  regarded  each  other  askance,  as  uneasily 
as  two  wrestlers  circling  for  a  hold.  Wesley  was  the  first 
to  speak.  He  said: 

"Well,  my  boy?" 

"  I  wrote  you  a  long  letter  last  night,  dad,"  Bayard  said. 

"You  did?    What  about?" 

Bayard  had  guessed  the  situation;  he  saw  the  cruel 
joke  of  it.  He  thought  he  could  dull  the  edge  with 
mockery.  He  snickered,  rather  cravenly: 

"I  wrote  to  ask  you  to  lend  me  some  money.  I  guess 
I  wasted  the  postage." 

"And  I  guess  I  wasted  the  fare  over  here.  I  thought  I 
oughtn't  have  taken  a  berth  in  the  sleeper,  but  your 
mother  insisted — said  I'd  not  been  feelin'  any  too  well." 

Bayard  laughed  outright — a  laugh  wet  with  vinegar 
tears. 

Wesley  sank  into  a  chair  with  the  little  whimper  of  a 
sick  old  man — such  a  sound  as  that  Belgian  school- 
master with  the  umbrella  must  have  made  when  the 
bullet  knocked  him  over  into  the  ditch.  That  bullet 
and  the  countless  others  and  the  shrapnel  were  reaching 
across  the  ocean  into  American  towns. 

3" 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Bayard  went  to  his  father  and  put  his  arm  about  him  and 
regretted  his  Wall  Street  disaster  with  a  ferocious  remorse. 
He  could  not  speak,  and  there  was  a  long  dumbness 
before  Wesley  sighed: 

"  I  guess  we  got  to  lose  the  home,  then." 

That  "then"  was  a  history  in  a  word. 

Bayard  bent  his  head  in  shame  at  his  helplessness. 
As  usual,  it  was  Wesley  who  found  a  shabby  comfort 
in  the  situation — found  it  for  his  son. 

"Don't  you  think  anything  more  about  it,  my  boy. 
I'm  kind  of  relieved."  He  giggled  with  a  pitiful  senility. 
"I  been  so  ashamed  at  traipsin'  over  here  to  bother  you 
instead  of  rushin'  over  to  help  you  like  I  ought  to — being 
your  father — that  I'm  kind  of  glad  you  can't  help  me. 
I  got  no  right  to  add  to  your  troubles.  I'm  supposed  to 
take  care  of  you." 

This  cracked  Bayard's  pride  completely.  A  sob  broke 
from  him,  and  others  followed  in  ugly,  awkward  succes- 
sion. Men  do  not  know  how  to  cry. 

Leila  heard  from  the  hall,  and  the  uncouth  sound 
frightened  her.  She  ran  to  the  door  and  found  Bayard 
on  the  floor  with  his  arms  across  his  father's  knees.  He 
was  crying  like  the  baby  his  failures  had  made  him. 

Leila  felt  hot  tears  suddenly  drenching  her  cheeks,  and 
Daphne,  peering  past  her,  stared  through  the  eyes  of 
anguish  at  her  brother's  grief.  But  what  clutched  the 
hearts  of  the  two  women  was  the  old  shriveled  hand  of 
Wesley  wavering  above  the  head  of  his  son. 

The  women  marveled  over  the  men  till  they  saw  that 
Bayard  was  regaining  his  self-control.  Then  they  re- 
treated unseen  to  spare  him  the  final  degradation  of  know- 
ing that  they  were  witnesses.  Leila  closed  the  door 
softly,  and  she  and  Daphne  clung  together,  listening 
without  compunction. 

They  heard  the  miserable  business  that  follows  such  a 
break-down,  when  the  soul  that  has  wept  must  pick  up 

312 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  scattered  shreds  of  self-respect.  Bayard  choked,  and 
sniveled,  and  laughed,  and  blew  his  nose,  and  called  him- 
self a  damned  good-for-nothing  cry-baby. 

Wesley  told  him  he  was  no  such  thing.  He  was  a  fine 
boy  and  he'd  own  New  York  yet;  he'd  worked  hard,  and 
he  was  young,  and  if  he  was  in  trouble  it  was  only  what 
packs  of  millionaires  were  in.  He  must  not  worry. 
Everything  would  come  out  all  right.  And  if  the  home 
had  to  go,  after  all,  it  wouldn't  matter,  because  it  was 
only  an  old  ramshackle  thing  and  lots  too  big  for  two 
old  folks  with  no  children  round  the  place  to  fill  up  the 
empty  rooms.  It  was  a  lot  of  bother  for  mother,  and 
she'd  be  a  heap  comfortabler  in  a  smaller  place — one  of 
those  nice  cozy  flats  they  were  building  so  fast  in  Cleve- 
land. 

Bayard  would  not  be  solaced  by  any  such  abnegation. 
He  kept  groaning : 

"To  lose  your  home!  To  think  of  you  losing  your 
home !  And  me  standing  by !" 

"Why,  it's  nothing,  Bayard.  After  all.  we're  not  in 
Belgium.  We've  got  friends.  And  relations.  There's 
no  danger  of  anything  happening  to  us.  I  had  no  right 
to  come  over  here  and  worry  you  about  an  old  house  that's 
no  good,  anyway!" 

Daphne  clung  to  Leila  and  buried  her  face  in  Leila's 
bosom  to  smother  her  frenzied  grief.  Leila,  mopping 
Daphne's  cheek  with  her  own  handkerchief,  caught  the 
glint  of  a  diamond  on  her  finger.  It  glistened  like  a  great, 
immortal  tear. 

It  inspired  her  with  a  new  hope.  She  had  often  con- 
soled herself  with  the  thought  of  her  jewels  as  a  final 
refuge,  but  she  had  put  off  the  evil  day.  Now  she  felt 
that  the  time  had  come.  She  threw  open  the  door  and 
spoke  into  the  gloom  with  a  voice  of  seraphic  beauty: 

"I  couldn't  help  hearing  what  you  were  saying.  You 
needn't  be  down-hearted,  though,  for  I've  just  thought  of 
a  way  to  help  daddy  out."  He  was  "daddy"  to  her  also. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Bayard  and  Wesley  turned  and  stared  at  her  in  amaze- 
ment. She  went  on  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy. 

"My  rings!"  she  cried.  "Don't  you  see!  My  dia- 
monds and  rubies!  And  I've  got  a  necklace  or  two,  and 
some  chains  and  brooches.  They're  worth  a  lot  of  money. 
And  you're  welcome  to  'em,  daddy." 

The  men  were  confused  with  too  many  emotions  to 
know  what  to  feel,  much  less  what  to  say.  Leila's  mis- 
sion was  so  divinely  meant  that  it  was  sacrilege  to  receive 
it  with  reluctance.  And  yet  for  Wesley  to  let  this  new 
daughter-in-law  pawn  her  trinkets  for  him  was  post- 
graduate humiliation. 

Bayard  was  proud  of  Leila  for  her  final  extravagance, 
but  the  sarcasm  of  things  could  not  escape  him.  She, 
the  untamable  spendthrift,  the  model  of  financial  mis- 
behavior, was  chosen  to  play  the  role  of  saving  angel  for 
the  dashing  young  Napoleon  and  the  cautious  old  Fabius. 

But  needs  must  when  the  devil  drives,  and  they  obeyed 
Leila's  orders.  She  was  for  visiting  a  pawnshop  at  once, 
but  Bayard  balked  at  letting  her  go.  She  laughed  at  his 
scruples;  some  of  the  best  people  were  regular  clients  of 
the  pawnshops,  she  said.  That  was  what  jewels  were 
for  when  they  were  not  being  worn;  and  she  was  not 
likely  to  be  going  anywhere  where  her  full  regalia  would  be 
appropriate. 

The  end  of  it  was  that  Bayard  demanded  the  melan- 
choly privilege  of  visiting  the  pawnshop  himself.  Leila 
made  a  heap  of  her  adornments.  Last  of  all  she  took 
from  her  neck  the  little  plaque  he  had  given  her  with  its 
star-dust  of  diamonds  frosting  a  platinum  filigree. 

"You'd  better  take  this,  too,"  she  said.  "We  shall 
need  such  a  lot  of  money.  You  ought  to  get  a  good  deal 
for  this,  it's  so  exquisite." 

And  now  he  blushed  because  it  had  not  cost  him  so 
much  as  she  thought!  He  had  bought  it  to  appease  her 
after  their  first  big  quarrel,  when  she  had  terrified  him 
by  running  up  bills.  He  had  rebuked  her  with  a  jewel. 

3H 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  had  run  up  a  bill  to  get  the  jewel — the  first  of  his 
sins  of  the  sort.  And  now  he  was  ashamed  because  he 
had  not  sinned  with  more  generosity. 

He  refused  to  take  the  plaque.  It  was  bad  enough 
to  take  the  other  treasures  from  her.  He  felt  like  an 
invader  robbing  a  helpless  woman. 

"I  couldn't  feel  any  lower,  honey,"  he  said,  "if  I  were 
tearing  these  earrings  out  of  your  ears." 

"Well,  if  I  were  a  Belgian  lady  and  you  were  looting 
my  home,  you'd  kiss  me  at  least,"  she  laughed. 

But  he  would  riot  smile.  He  kissed  her  mournfully 
and  hurried  away  to  the  pawnshop.  He  skulked  in  and 
out  like  a  burglar,  and  he  brought  away  a  pack  of  tickets 
and  a  lump  of  money.  The  pawnbroker  apologized  for 
lending  him  less  than  half  the  value  of  the  gems ;  so  many 
people  were  looking  to  the  pawnbrokers  for  salvation,  he 
said,  that  he  could  not  find  cash  enough  for  all.  Times 
were  hard  indeed  when  the  pawnshops  were  overworked. 

Bayard  went  home  and  surrendered  to  Leila  her  funds. 
She  passed  them  over  to  her  father-in-law.  Poor  Wesley 
tried  again  to  evade  the  donation. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  do  this  for  me,"  he  com- 
plained. 

And  Leila  said:  "I'll  tell  you  why,  daddy.  The  first 
time  you  saw  me  you  took  me  in  your  arms  and  loved  me, 
and  said  you  were  proud  of  me,  and  you  said,  '  Isn't  she 
pretty?'  That  made  an  awful  hit  with  me,  and  I've  just 
been  waiting  for  a  chance  to  get  even.  If  you  don't 
take  what  you  need,  I'll  jump  out  of  the  window." 

He  saved  her  life.  He  peeled  off  the  minimum  that 
would  serve  as  a  sop  to  his  creditors  and  said  he  would 
take  the  afternoon  train  home. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

DAPHNE,  having  been  a  mere  spectator,  had  resented 
her  uselessness.  Her  brother  had  wept  and  groveled 
because  he  could  not  help  his  father;  but  nobody  ex- 
pected a  daughter  to  be  a  reliance  at  such  a  time. 

In  a  panic  women  were  something  to  save;  precious 
baggage;  prize  cattle;  stupid,  panicky  things;  more  trouble 
than  help,  like  horses  in  a  fire. 

Women  and  children  first — that  was  the  ideal  of  the 
male  hero.  Women  and  children  could  not  vote  because 
they  could  not  take  care  of  themselves,  or  fight,  or  pay 
their  own  way,  put  out  fires  or  put  down  riots,  strangle 
mad  dogs,  tie  up  drunkards  or  maniacs,  or  furnish  im- 
portant money  of  their  own  earning  in  a  time  of  disaster. 

This  was  man's  opinion  of  woman  and  Daphne  knew 
that  numberless  women  held  the  same  opinion  of  them- 
selves, or  acted  on  it  at  least. 

There  were  women  who  were  as  brave  and  as  resource- 
ful and  as  calm  as  any  man,  but  they  did  not  seem  to 
count  somehow.  The  triumphant  women  that  won  ap- 
proval were  the  Leilas,  the  sirens  whose  strength  was 
their  frailty,  whose  fascination  their  greed. 

Daphne  had  watched  Leila's  little  scene  with  as  much 
confusion  as  the  other  two  Kips.  She  felt  a  normal 
amount  of  jealousy,  of  course,  as  woman  to  woman,  but 
no  more  than  a  healthy  amount,  for  she  liked  Leila  and  she 
was  grateful  to  Leila  for  being  able  to  rescue  her  father 
and  for  being  willing  to.  It  was  a  fine  thing  for  Leila 
to  strip  herself  of  her  last  splendor  to  help  an  old  father- 
in-law  pay  the  interest  on  a  mortgage  on  a  house  in 

316 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

another  town.     Daphne  gave  Leila  full  meed  of  applause 
for  that. 

What  embittered  Daphne  was  that  it  had  to  be  Leila 
and  not  herself  that  saved  her  father,  and  that  Leila  had 
to  do  the  deed  by  spending  things  she  had  not  paid  for 
herself — ornaments,  gewgaws,  gifts. 

The  money  Daphne  had  saved  by  giving  up  her  trous- 
seau had  done  no  visible  good  to  anybody.  The  sacri- 
fices she  had  made  had  put  no  money  in  her  bank.  Her 
willingness  to  toil  had  not  brought  her  profit  or  comfort — 
not  even  more  toil.  She  had  earned  nothing.  But 
Leila  had  earned  everything — "if  you  could  call  it  earn- 
ing," Daphne  pondered,  darkly,  "to  get  things  the  way 
she  got  those!" 

Leila  had  collected  from  life  perhaps  three  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  jewels  and  Daphne  had  collected  a  fifty- 
dollar  check,  framed — and  that  check  was  in  lieu  of 
work.  As  soon  as  she  remembered  that  check  she  ran 
up  to  her  room  and  took  it  down  from  the  wall,  ripped 
off  the  back  of  the  frame  and  removed  the  check  from  the 
mat. 

She  studied  it  and  thought,  "The  first  money  and  the 
last."  Then  a  vigor  of  determination  clenched  all  her 
muscles  in  a  kind  of  lockjaw.  She  came  out  of  the  spasm 
in  a  tremor  of  hysterical  faith.  She  spoke  her  thought 
aloud  in  a  fury:  "It  sha'n't  be  the  last,  it  sha'n't,  it 
sha'n't,  by  golly!"  The  feebleness  of  the  expletive  dis- 
gusted her.  She  tried  to  be  powerful  by  way  of  powerful 
language.  Before  she  knew  it  she  ripped  out  a  resounding 
oath  that  would  have  pleased  the  good  Queen  Bess. 
"By  God,  I'll  pay  my  way! — honestly!  like  a  man!" 

All  her  powder  exploded  in  that  one  detonation. 

She  fell  over  into  a  chair  in  horror.  The  blasphemy 
seemed  to  rattle  about  the  little  room.  It  terrified  her. 
Mrs.  Chiwis  ran  down  the  hall,  carrying  her  everlasting 
sewing,  and  tapped  on  the  door  and  asked: 

"Did  you  call  me,  my  dear?    Are  you  ill?'1 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"No,  thank  you.    I'm  all  right.    I  didn't  say  anything." 

That  was  doubly  false.  She  had  said  something.  In 
the  slang  of  the  hour  she  had  "said  something."  She 
had  "said  an  earful, "  also  a  heartful. 

Mrs.  Chivvis  supposed  that  what  she  had  heard  was 
some  voice  from  the  street,  and  went  back  along  the  hall, 
stitching  as  she  walked. 

Daphne  took  the  check  and  went  down  to  Bayard's 
apartment.  Bayard  was  on  his  way  to  the  pawnbroker's. 
Leila  was  in  his  room.  Old  Wesley  sat  in  a  chair  facing  a 
wall.  He  seemed  to  see  through  it.  Daphne  went  to 
him  and  put  the  check  in  his  hand,  explaining  what  it  was. 

"It's  all  I  ever  earned,  daddy,  and  I  want  you  to  have 
it." 

He  looked  at  it  and  smiled  and  tears  fairly  shot  out  of 
his  eyes.  He  patted  her  hand  between  his  and  said: 

"Why,  honey,  I  couldn't  take  your  poor  little  earnings! 
Not  for  anything  in  this  world." 

"Please,  daddy;  it  would  make  me  ever  so  happy!" 

"But  it  would  kill  me!  You  don't  want  to  do  that, 
do  you!"  You  must  spend  it  on  yourself.  Buy  yourself 
something  nice  with  it." 

"  I'll  buy  myself  a  picture  of  you." 

She  told  of  her  longing  for  a  photograph  of  him,  but  did 
not  tell  him  of  her  need  of  it  as  a  talisman.  He  laughed 
aloud  at  this  incredible  way  of  spending  money,  till  she 
began  suddenly  to  cry.  He  had  no  answer  to  that  argu- 
ment except  yes.  Then  she  began  to  laugh.  They  de- 
cided to  stop  at  a  photographer's  on  the  way  to  the  five- 
thirty  train. 

Daphne  ran  out  and  cashed  Reben's  check  at  the 
grocer's,  much  to  the  relief  of  Reben's  bookkeeper,  whose 
books  had  been  held  up  by  the  missing  check. 

Daphne  asked  for  the  privilege  of  taking  her  father  to 
the  train,  and  Bayard  was  so  busy  figuring  where  to  put 
the  cash  he  had  on  hand  that  he  consented  to  stop  at  home. 

Daphne  went  first  to  the  gallery  of  a  photographer 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

whose  show-case  on  Fifth  Avenue  had  displayed  some 
strong  and  veracious  portraits  of  men.  The  photog- 
rapher's prices  staggered  Daphne  and  she  protested,  but 
he  answered,  dolefully : 

"I'd  give  a  thousand  dollars  for  one  photograph  of  my 
father." 

That  settled  it.  Daphne  gave  him  the  order  and  he 
made  Wesley  comfortable  as  one  could  be  at  a  photog- 
rapher's, walked  about  him,  engaging  him  in  conversation 
and  pressing  the  bulb  surreptitiously  when  he  caught 
Wesley  off  his  guard.  He  filled  many  plates  with  Wesley's 
expressions  and  assured  Daphne  that  he  had  had  success. 
But  it  would  take  some  days  before  proofs  could  be 
sent. 

Daphne  hung  back  to  warn  him:  "Don't  you  retouch 
a  single  wrinkle.  I  love  every  one  of  'em!" 

Wesley  was  curious,  without  vanity,  to  see  how  he 
looked,  but  he  had  to  hurry  away  to  his  train. 

Daphne  went  with  him  as  far  as  the  gate.  She  was 
stopped  there  because  she  had  neither  a  ticket  for  the 
train  nor  a  platform-pass  from  the  station-master. 

She  hugged  her  father  almost  to  suffocation  and  they 
tried  to  cheer  each  other  up  till  the  last  moment.  Then 
he  left  her,  jostled  through  the  gate  awkwardly,  and 
awkwardly  turned  back  to  wave  to  her  and  throw  her 
kisses. 

She  watched  him  dwindling  down  the  long  platform. 
He  was  a  mere  manikin  when  he  reached  his  place  and 
waved  to  her  before  he  vanished  through  the  magic  door 
of  the  train. 

She  waved  to  him  with  her  handkerchief,  and  when  he 
was  gone  she  buried  her  eyes  in  it.  Her  partings  with  her 
father  had  marked  epochs  in  her  life.  She  wondered  what 
destiny  would  do  to  her  between  now  and  the  next  then. 
She  felt  forlorn,  afraid  for  his  life  on  the  train,  afraid  for 
her  soul  in  the  perils  before  it,  and  so  sorry  for  him  and 
for  herself  that  she  could  not  help  boo-hooing  a  little. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Destiny  did  not  keep  her  waiting,  for  while  she  was 
strangling  her  sobs  as  best  she  could  she  heard  a  voice 
over  her  shoulder.  It  said: 

"Aha,  gel,  at  last  I  have  you  in  me  power." 

"Mr.  Duane!"  she  gasped  as  she  turned  to  meet  his 
smile  with  another.  "And  where  have  you  been  all  this 
long  while?" 

"A  lot  you've  cared,"  he  growled.  "Did  you  ever 
telephone  me  as  you  promised  you  would?  No!  Were 
you  always  out  when  I  telephoned?  Yes!  Did  you  let 
me  call  on  you?  You  did  not!  When  at  last  it  pene- 
trated my  thick  hide  that  you  were  actually  giving  me  a 
hint  that  you  didn't  want  me  round  and  that  you  had 
thrown  me  overboard,  neck  and  crop,  I  grew  very  proud. 
I  refused  to  call  on  you  again." 

"I'm  awfully  sor-ry,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  broke. 

"Sorry"  was  a  dangerous  word  for  her  at  that  moment, 
and  her  sobs  were  beginning  again,  when  he  made  a 
vigorous  effort  to  talk  them  down. 

The  crowds  in  the  station  were  too  well  preoccupied 
with  their  own  errands  to  notice  a  girl  crying,  and  to  the 
gatemen  farewell  tears  were  no  luxury. 

Duane  tried  the  best  he  could  to  help  her.  He  was 
saying:  "You  don't  want  to  know  what  happened,  so  I'll 
tell  you.  I  went  abroad!  Yes,  went  abroad.  I  was 
going  to  renounce  a  life  of  virtue  and  enter  Monte  Carlo. 
I'd  read  so  many  stories  about  parents  dragging  their 
daughters  to  Europe  to  get  unwelcome  suitors  out  of  their 
minds  that  I  thought  I'd  try  it  on  myself.  I  dragged 
myself  aboard  a  steamer  and  swore  I'd  forget  you.  It 
was  hard  at  first,  but  it  was  easier  when  I  landed  in  Paris. 
I  was  having  a  bully  time  and  just  getting  so  I  didn't 
think  of  you  more  than  once  or  twice  a  week  when  this 
idiotic  war  broke  out  and  chased  me  home.  And  now 
you've  broken  in  on  me  and  begun  disturbing  the  peace 
again.  What  do  you  mean  by  it? 

"And  I  find  you  hugging  and  kissing  a  beautiful  old 

320 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

gentleman.  Of  course  you'll  tell  me  it  was  your  father, 
but  why  should  I  believe  you?  You  don't  tell  me  the 
truth.  I  was  on  my  way  up  to  Stockbridge,  but  I  had  to 
solve  this  mystery." 

Under  the  shelter  of  his  garrulity  she  had  reconquered 
herself  and  she  smiled  at  him  and  his  welcome  clownish- 
ness.  He  was  the  only  person  she  had  seen  for  some  time 
who  had  taken  life  cheerfully,  or  whose  smile  was  not  more 
tragic  than  tears. 

He  went  on:  "And  now  I  suppose  I've  got  to  miss  my 
train  and  my  golf  and  all  that  while  I  take  you  home  in  a 
taxi.  You're  far  too  pretty  to  be  running  around  loose 
in  a  mob  like  this." 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  mustn't  miss  your  train, 
Mr.  Duane,  or  your  golf.  I'm  used  to  going  about  alone, 
and  I've  got  to  get  useder  to  it.  I'm  going  home  in  the 
subway.  Good-by  and  thank  you." 

She  put  out  her  hand  formally,  and  he  took  it.  It  was 
like  a  soft,  sun-warmed  flower  in  his  palm,  and  he  clung 
to  it.  Its  warmth  seemed  to  reach  through  his  blood  to 
his  heart  and  to  make  it  ache. 

"I  must  go.  You  can't  put  me  off  again!"  he  said. 
"I  will  take  you  home!"  He  turned  to  call  a  redcap 
standing  in  solemn  patience  beside  two  traveling-bags  and 
a  bristling  golf-bag.  "Porter,  take  my  things  to  the 
parcel-room  and  bring  me  the  check." 

"No,"  said  Daphne,  hastily.  "I  mustn't!  You  mustn't! 
Really !  I  mean  it !  Good-by !' ' 

She  walked  away  so  rapidly  that  he  could  not  follow 
her  without  unseemly  haste.  She  heard  him  call,  sharply : 
"Porter,  never  mind  the  parcel-room.  Come  along  to  the 
dammed  train." 

Her  success  in  escaping  him  was  so  complete  that  she 
rather  regretted  it.  When  she  reached  the  apartment  she 
found  Leila  almost  prostrated  from  the  effects  of  her 
altruism  and  from  the  fact  that  Bayard  was  in  one  of  his 
tantrums. 

ii  321 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

A  special-delivery  letter  had  just  come  from  Dutilh's 
shop.  It  said  that  Mr.  Dutilh  was  arriving  from  Paris 
with  his  winter  models,  and  since  he  would  have  to  pay  a 
large  sum  at  the  customs-house  it  was  regrettably  neces- 
sary to  beg  Mr.  Kip  to  send  by  return  mail  a  check  for 
the  inclosed  bill,  which  was  long  past  due. 

And  now  the  briefly  adjourned  laws  of  finance  were  re- 
assembled. Leila's  short  reign  was  over;  her  extravagance 
had  again  found  her  out  and  demanded  punishment. 
The  gown  she  had  bought,  and  was  asked  to  pay  for, 
had  been  worn  shabby,  danced  to  shreds  in  Newport. 
But  the  bill  was  as  bright  as  ever. 

Bayard  was  so  fagged  with  his  weeks  of  discouragement 
that  he  was  as  irascible  as  a  veteran  of  the  gout  whose  toe 
has  been  stepped  on.  When  Daphne  walked  in  he  was 
denouncing  Leila  in  excellent  form.  He  used  Daphne  as 
a  further  club. 

"My  poor  sister  sent  back  the  gown  she  bought!  But 
you — you  bought  more!" 

Daphne  realized  how  much  this  would  endear  her  to 
Leila  and  she  took  immediate  flight.  She  found  the 
Chiwises  in  a  state  of  tension.  Mr.  Chiwis  was  not 
usually  home  before  half  past  six.  Daphne  felt  an  omen 
in  the  way  they  looked  at  her  when  they  acknowledged 
her  entrance. 

She  went  to  her  room  in  a  state  of  foreboding  misery. 
She  had  not  paid  her  board  for  several  weeks.  She  had  not 
mentioned  the  fact  to  Mrs.  Chiwis,  nor  Mrs.  Chiwis  to  her, 
though  the  non-payment  of  a  board  bill  is  one  of  the  self- 
evident  truths  that  landladies  usually  discuss  with  freedom. 

A  few  minutes  later  Mrs.  Chiwis  tapped  on  the  door, 
her  thimble  making  a  sharp  clack.  She  brought  her 
sewing  with  her  and  sewed  as  she  said:  "May  I  sit  down  a 
moment?  Thank  you."  She  kept  her  eyes  on  the  seam 
while  she  talked. 

"Well,  Miss  Kip,  the  war  has  reached  us  also  at  last. 
My  husband  lost  his  position  to-day." 

322 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Yes?  Oh,  how  horrible!"  Daphne  gasped,  with 
double  sincerity. 

"The  office  was  closed  unexpectedly  by  an  involuntary 
petition  in  bankruptcy.  His  salary  was  not  paid  last 
week  nor  this,  and — well — we  don't  want  to  incon- 
venience you,  but — " 

"I  understand,"  said  Daphne.  "I'll  give  you  what  I 
can." 

She  took  her  poor  little  wealth  from  her  hand-bag. 
She  had  paid  ten  of  the  fifty  to  the  photographer  as  a 
deposit.  She  gave  Mrs.  Chiwis  twenty-five  dollars,  and 
promised  her  more. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  was  very  grateful  and  went  down  the  hall, 
smiling  a  little  over  her  seam. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

called  that  evening.  He  was  exhausted  with  a 
day  of  tramping  the  town,  looking  for  work.  He  was 
too  weary  to  talk  and  he  fell  asleep  twice  during  one  of 
Mr.  Chiwis'  commentaries  on  the  probable  effects  of 
the  imminent  capture  of  Paris  by  the  irresistible  Germans. 
The  French  government  had  already  moved  to  Bordeaux 
and —  But  Clay  had  read  it  all  in  a  dozen  different  news- 
papers, and  he  passed  away. 

Daphne  was  restless.  Mr.  Chiwis  was  on  her  nerves. 
Clay  was  not  pretty,  asleep,  sitting  up  with  his  jaw  dropped 
and  his  hands  hanging  down,  palms  forward,  like  an  ape's. 
She  was  enjoying  another  of  the  woes  of  marriage  without 
its  privileges. 

The  Chiwises  began  to  yawn,  and  Mrs.  Chiwis  finally 
bade  the  startled  Clay  "Good  evening."  She  had  been 
brought  up  to  believe  that  it  was  indelicate  for  a  woman 
to  bid  a  man  "Good  night." 

Clay,  left  alone  with  Daphne,  attempted  a  drowsy 
caress,  but  she  felt  insulted  and  she  snapped  at  him: 

"If  you're  only  walking  in  your  sleep,  you'd  better 
walk  yourself  out  of  here  and  go  to  bed." 

His  apology  was  incoherent  and  she  was  indignantly 
curt  with  him  at  the  door.  She  went  to  her  room  and 
sat  at  the  window,  staring  down  at  the  dark  swarm  of 
watchers  before  the  bulletin-boards. 

All  day  and  all  night  there  were  little  knots  of  people 
there.  They  gathered  in  clumps  about  fierce  debaters,  and 
foreign  reservists  and  hyphenated  Americans  wrangled  on 
the  merits  and  the  outcome  of  the  campaigns. 

Daphne  could  not  sleep.  The  military  and  political 

324 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

phases  of  the  conflict  interested  her  only  hi  the  vaguest 
way.  The  stories  of  devastation  and  slaughter  and  star- 
vation overwhelmed  her  sympathies.  She  longed  for 
millions  to  spend  upon  the  armies  of  despair.  But  she 
could  not  pay  her  board  bill.  She  wanted  to  go  out  into 
the  streets  and  walk  her  restlessness  away,  but  nice  young 
girls  could  not  walk  the  streets  at  night  without  being 
misunderstood. 

She  had  told  her  brother  that  she  did  not  have  to 
starve  or  sin,  because  she  had  a  father,  a  brother,  a 
lover  to  protect  her  from  want.  And  now  her  father  and 
her  brother  and  her  lover  were  all  in  dire  predicament, 
staggering  blindly  in  a  fog  of  debt. 

Suppose  her  father's  train  ran  off  the  track  or  into 
another  train.  A  spread  rail,  a  block  signal  overlooked,  a 
switch  left  unlocked,  might  bring  doom  upon  his  train  as 
on  so  many  others.  She  shivered  at  the  horror  of  her 
father's  loss.  She  shivered  again  at  the  thought  of  what 
it  would  mean  to  her. 

Suppose  the  Chi  wises  turned  her  out.  Why  should 
they  feed  her  for  nothing  when  their  own  future  was 
endangered? 

What  could  Bayard  do  for  her?  or  Clay?  There  was 
Mr.  Duane,  of  course;  but  she  could  not  take  his  money 
without  paying  him.  And  in  what  coin  could  she  pay 
him?  She  trembled,  and  the  breeze  turned  glacial. 

She  was  not  far  from  having  to  choose  whether  she 
should  starve  or —  She  watched  the  streets  with  a  new 
and  ghastly  interest.  She  could  see,  on  the  brightly  lighted 
pavements,  various  women  plodding  up  and  down  at  their 
doleful  trade,  peddling  their  cheap  trash.  For  the  first 
time  she  felt  sorry  for  these  venders  of  imitation  love. 
They  were  women,  after  all,  and  perhaps  they*  hated  their 
work  as  much  as  she  abhorred  it. 

They  seemed  to  have  poor  success.  She  watched  one  of 
them,  vague  and  small  with  distance,  but  manifestly 
young  and  slim  and  melancholy.  She  spoke  to  many  men 

325 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

of  many  sorts.  None  of  them  lingered.  Some  of  them 
laughed  at  her.  Some  of  them  ignored  her.  She  seemed 
to  be  very  tired.  Could  the  times  be  so  hard  that  even 
sin  had  lost  its  market? 

It  was  possible,  then,  even  for  the  wicked  to  starve. 
She  turned  away  from  the  window  in  a  sick  alarm  at  life. 
She  undressed  wearily  and  crept  into  her  bed  without 
saying  her  prayers.  What  was  the  use  of  praying?  All 
Europe  was  at  prayer. 

The  next  morning  was  another  day  of  the  same  shoddy 
pattern.  She  rose  unrefreshed  with  only  her  fears  re- 
newed. She  borrowed  the  Chiwises  newspaper  and, 
skipping  the  horrid  advertisements  of  foreign  barbarity 
and  American  dismay,  turned  to  the  last  pages.  The 
"Situations  Wanted"  columns  were  eloquently  numerous 
and  the  "Help  Wanted — Female"  columns  were  few; 
still,  she  made  a  list  of  such  places  as  there  were.  She 
wrote  letters  to  all  sorts  of  people  who  gave  newspaper 
letter-box  addresses,  and  she  went  out  to  call  on  all  sorts 
of  people  who  gave  their  street  numbers. 

The  doors  of  the  latter  were  attended  by  shabby  queues 
like  the  box-offices  at  bargain  matine'es.  And  the  queues 
were  usually  dismissed  before  Daphne  was  reached.  Or 
if  she  reached  the  advertiser  she  found  that  he  did  not 
want  her,  or  he  had  some  trick  of  selling  goods  to  the  poor 
dupes  of  his  fraudulently  worded  decoys. 

The  letters  she  wrote  were  not  answered  at  all.  She 
lost  her  postage  as  she  had  lost  her  car  fares.  Day  after 
day  went  by  and  there  was  no  comfort  in  existence. 
Bayard,  Leila,  Clay,  the  Chiwises,  all  cowered  under  the 
pall  of  misery  that  overcast  the  world.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
end  of  the  world,  or  at  least  the  break-up  of  its  civiliza- 
tion, had  arrived  without  warning  and  without  refuge. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

DAPHNE  had  not  told  Mrs.  Chiwis  of  her  financial 
plight,  nor  of  her  father's,  nor  her  brother's.     She 
had  simply  let  the  days  of  payment  go  past  one  by  one. 
She  saw  a  chillier  glitter  in  Mrs.  Chiwis'  eye  and  there 
was  a  constraint  upon  the  conversation  for  many  days. 

Charles  Lamb  said  that  the  lender  was  always  shy  and 
ashamed  before  the  borrower;  but  Mrs.  Chiwis  was  an 
involuntary  creditor  and  Daphne  was  not  a  born  debtor. 
She  lacked  the  sustaining  power  of  Leila's  conviction  that 
anything  chargeable  is  a  legitimate  purchase.  She  was 
rather  craven  as  a  non-payer. 

It  is  hard  for  two  people  to  be  good  company  when 
one  owes  the  other  money  that  the  other  needs.  Mrs. 
Chiwis  had  surmised  that  Daphne's  interest  in  the  ad- 
vertising columns,  her  long  absences  and  her  home- 
returnings  in  a  state  of  despondent  exhaustion,  implied 
a  hunt  for  employment,  but  while  this  was  commendable 
it  was  not  negotiable. 

Mr.  Chiwis  was  at  home  most  of  the  time  now,  sitting 
about  in  his  old  clothes  to  save  the  others.  He  and  his 
wife  naturally  talked  of  Daphne.  Sometimes  she  over- 
heard their  undertones.  Each  seemed  to  urge  the  other 
to  the  attack.  Finally,  one  evening  Mrs.  Chiwis  made 
so  bold  as  to  call  on  Daphne  in  her  room,  and  to  say, 
after  much  improvising: 

"I  dislike  to  speak  of  it,  Miss  Kip,  but — well — er — 
you  see — the  fact  is — if  you —  The  grocer  is  sending 
round  in  the  morning  for  his  last  week's  bill,  and — if  it's 
not  inconvenient — " 

327 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  felt  sick  with  shame,  but  she  had  to  confess, 
"I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am,  but  I  haven't  any." 

"Really?  That's  too  bad!"  Mrs.  Chiwis  said.  She 
was  hardly  sorrier  for  herself  than  for  Daphne.  She  tried 
to  brighten  them  both  with  hope.  "But  you  expect — 
no  doubt  you  expect  soon  to — " 

"I've  been  looking  for — for  some  work  to  do,  but  there 
doesn't  seem  to  be  any." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  said  Mrs.  Chiwis,  confirmed  in  her  sus- 
picions and  reduced  to  silence.  Daphne  went  on,  after 
swallowing  several  cobblestones: 

"  But,  of  course,  I've  no  right  to  be  eating  your  food  and 
staying  on  here  as  a  guest.  And  I  suppose  I'd  better  give 
up  my  room,  so  that  you  can  take  in  somebody  who  can 
pay." 

Mrs.  Chiwis  was  close,  but  she  was  not  up  to  an 
eviction,  and  she  gasped.  "Oh,  really! — I  hardly  think — 
I  shouldn't  like —  Pardon  me  a  minute." 

She  scurried  away  and  Daphne  faintly  heard  her 
holding  parley  with  her  husband.  Then  Daphne  learned 
how  it  feels  to  have  the  jury  out.  She  suffered  horribly 
till  Mrs.  Chiwis  came  back  and  said  with  all  the  shame 
of  a  conscientious  business  soul  committing  an  unbusiness- 
like extravagance: 

"Mr.  Chiwis  agrees  with  me  that  we  couldn't  think 
of  turning  you  out.  That  wouldn't  be  Christian,  or 
Congregational — or  anything.  Of  course,  we're  a  little 
worried,  but  we  had  saved  something  and  we  sha'n't 
starve — not  just  yet.  And  I  guess  we  can  find  enough 
for  us  all  to  eat  for  a  while.  So  Mr.  Chiwis  says  for 
you  not  to  bother  about  it,  and  just  make  yourself  at 
home." 

Her  hard  voice  crackled  like  an  icicle  snapping  off 
the  eaves  in  a  spring  sun;  and  before  either  of  them 
quite  understood  it  the  hard  eyes  of  both  thawed;  tears 
Streamed,  and  they  were  in  each  other's  arms. 

Daphne  was  the  better  weeper  of  the  two.  Poor  Mrs. 
328 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Chiwis  could  not  be  really  lavish  even  with  tears;  but 
she  did  very  well,  for  her. 

Immediately  they  felt  years  better  acquainted — old 
friends  all  of  a  sudden.  They  were  laughing  foolishly 
when  an  apologetic  knock  on  the  open  door  introduced 
Mr.  Chiwis,  who  would  no  more  have  crossed  the  sill 
than  he  would  have  broken  into  the  temple  of  Vesta. 
His  name  was  Chiwis,  not  Clodius. 

The  surprised  eyes  of  Daphne  threw  him  into  confusion, 
but  he  said:  "I've  been  thinking,  Miss  Kip,  that  if  you 
really  want  to  work  and  aren't  too  particular  what  at — 
maybe  I  could  get  you  a  place  at  my  old  office,  with  the 
publishing-house.  They  turned  me  off,  but  the  receivers 
are  trying  to  keep  the  business  going.  They  have  to  have 
a  lot  of — er — ladies  down  there  to  address  circulars  and 
prospectuses  and  things,  and  maybe  you  could  get  in. 
Not  much  pay,  but  something's  always  better  'n  nothing." 

"Anything  is  better  than  nothing,"  said  Daphne,  "and 
it  might  be  a  beginning." 

"It  might,  that's  true,"  Chiwis  exclaimed;  he  warmed 
as  he  thought  of  his  secular  church,  the  office.  "There's 
one  lady  down  there  began  at  ten  dollars  a  week — 
typewriting;  now  she's  secretary  to  the  vice-president  of 
the  company  and  gets  eighteen — and  only  been  there  four 
years!" 

Daphne  wondered  how  old  the  lady  would  be  before 
she  earned  her  fifty  thousand  a  year.  But  she  accepted 
Mr.  Chiwis'  offer  and  a  letter.  And  the  firm  accepted 
her  under  his  auspices. 

Now  Daphne  was  truly  a  working-woman;  not  a 
dramatic  artist  with  peculiar  hours,  but  a  toiler  by  the 
clock.  She  entered  the  office  of  the  company  at  half  past 
eight,  punched  her  number  on  the  time-register,  and  set 
to  work  addressing  large  envelopes.  She  wrote  and  wrote 
and  wrote  till  twelve;  at  one  she  took  up  her  pen  again, 
and  the  afternoon  went  in  an  endless  reiteration  of  dip 

329 


THE  THIRTEENTH   COMMANDMENT 

and  write,  till  five-thirty.  Then  she  joined  the  home- 
going  panic  and  took  the  crowded  subway  to  Columbus 
Circle. 

She  usually  had  to  stand  all  the  way,  for  men  were 
more  and  more  generally  surrendering  their  old  privileges 
of  chivalry,  particularly  that  of  giving  up  their  seats  in 
trains. 

The  homeward  ride  took  what  strength  remained  to 
Daphne  after  the  day's  work,  and  she  reached  her  nook 
in  a  state  of  regular  collapse.  Her  hunger  was  the  only 
antidote  to  her  drowsiness.  She  went  to  bed  at  a  working- 
woman's  hour,  slept  like  a  scrub-lady,  and  when  seven 
o'clock  came  in  the  morning  she  had  to  tear  herself  from 
sleep  as  from  the  recapturing  arms  of  an  octopus,  limb 
by  limb  and  faculty  by  faculty. 

She  was  too  tired  at  night  to  care  much  whether  Clay 
called  or  not.  Once  or  twice  when  he  called  she  fell 
asleep  on  his  shoulder,  even  while  he  protested  against 
her  degrading  herself  by  such  unnecessary  drudgery. 
She  did  not  want  to  tell  him  of  her  father's  penury,  and 
she  had  not  the  heart  to  remind  him  of  his  own,  and  she 
liked  to  have  him  dislike  to  have  her  work. 

She  plodded  the  treadmill,  till  at  the  end  of  her  sixth 
day,  her  forty-eighth  hour  of  transcribing  names  and  ad- 
dresses from  the  lists  to  the  wrappers,  she  carried  off  a 
cash  reward  of  eight  dollars.  This  was  not  clear  gain. 
Her  street-car  fares  had  totaled  sixty  cents,  her  lunches 
a  dollar  and  a  half;  she  had  worn  her  costumes  at  the 
sleeves  and  damaged  them  with  a  few  ink-spots,  and  her 
shoes  were  taking  on  a  shabby  nap. 

It  was  not  encouraging.  She  was  exhausting  herself 
and  earning  less  than  enough  to  pay  for  her  room  and 
board  with  the  Chiwises.  Her  father  had  insisted 
on  paying  it  at  first,  but  he  had  forgotten  it  in  his  mul- 
titude of  worries,  and  Daphne  had  assumed  the  debt. 

Still  she  insisted  that  the  labor  was  worth  while,  since 
it  kept  her  occupied;  -  besides,  it  was  teaching  her  en- 

330 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

durance  and  routine,  and  she  was  studying  the  stone  walls 
of  life  against  which  the  poor  and  improvident  bruise 
their  heads.  About  her  was  a  little  army  of  women  doing 
the  same  work,  plebeian  young  women,  and  pathetic 
elderly  women,  and  all  the  intermediate  types.  They 
were  shepherded  by  a  kindly,  ancient  man  who  called 
them  "ladies"  and  treated  them  as  if  they  were. 

At  Daphne's  right  elbow  was  a  finely  carved  old  ivory 
who  wrote  all  day  like  an  automaton.  She  was  manifestly 
a  victim  of  early  advantages  followed  by  financial  re- 
verses. She  spoke  rarely,  and  coughed  incessantly, 
while  her  little  gray,  corded,  mottled  hand  everlastingly 
and  exquisitely  drew  each  name  as  if  it  were  a  monarch's 
engrossed  on  a  state  document. 

At  Daphne's  left  elbow  was  a  large,  fat  girl  whose 
pen  rolled  off  large,  fat  letters.  She  sat  behind  a  large, 
fat  bosom  which  seemed  to  be  in  her  way.  She  had  to 
write  around  it  and  peer  over  it.  She  talked  all  the  time 
about  nothing  of  importance,  laughed  and  fidgeted  and 
asked  questions  that  would  have  been  impertinent  if  they 
had  come  from  anything  but  a  large,  fat  head. 

Her  name  was  Maria  Pribik.  She  was  a  Bohemian  of 
the  second  generation;  but  she  was  dyed  in  the  wool 
with  New-Yorkishness.  She  was  an  incessant  optimist 
and  kept  reminding  everybody  to  "cheer  up,  goils,  the 
woisst  might  be  woisser  yet." 

She  said  to  Daphne:  "You're  a  lady,  ain't  cha?  I  can 
tell.  But  say,  you  got  a  right  to  get  married  and  knock 
off  woikin'.  Still,  this  ain't  so  woisse,  not  when  you 
think  of  some  of  the  homes  some  them  married  goils 
gotta  live  in,  and  then  them  sweat-shops  and  shoit-waist 
factories — Gawd!  Was  you  ever  in  one  them?  Na?  Gee, 
but  choor  lucky!" 

Daphne's  luck  did  not  last  long.  The  receivers  found 
that  the  percentage  of  inquiries  following  upon  the  ad- 
vertising and  circularizing  campaigns  was  hardly  paying 
the  postage.  People  were  either  too  poor  to  buy  books 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

or  too  busy  with  the  molten  history  pouring  from  the 
caldrons  of  Europe.  Yesterday's  paper  was  ancient 
history  enough. 

The  receivers  closed  down  the  business  abruptly  on  a 
Saturday  and  instructed  the  poor  old  shepherd  to  announce 
to  his  flock  that  there  would  be  no  more  work  at  present. 
It  grieved  him  to  spread  the  evil  news.  Daphne's  heart 
stopped.  Here  she  was  again,  learning  again  the  dreadful 
significance  of  "Out  of  a  job" — what  the  theatrical 
people  called  "at  liberty." 

The  old-ivory  lady  next  Daphne  simply  whispered, 
"Oh  dear,  oh  dear !"  and  fell  to  rubbing  her  hands  together. 

Miss  Pribik  exploded:  "Oh  Gawd,  ain't  it  the  limit? 
And  it  was  such  a  nice  cool,  clean  job,  too.  Now  I  gotta 
go  back  to  Goist."  Still  she  repeated  her  war-cry, 
"Cheer  up,  goils,  the  woisst  might  be  woisser  yet!"  till 
some  of  the  dejected  flock  glared  at  her  murderously. 

She  looked  at  Daphne  and  noted  her  gloom.  "Say, 
kid,  listen  here.  Whyn't  choo  come  with  me?  I  can 
land  you  a  job  at  the  Lar  de  Lucks.  Guy  name  of  Goist  is 
the  boss  and  he'll  always  gimme  a  job  or  any  lady  friend. 
He's  kind  of  rough,  but  what's  the  diff  ?  His  money  buys 
just  as  much  as  anybody's.  We  better  beat  it  over  there 
ahead  this  bunch." 

Daphne  murmured  her  hasty  thanks  and  they  left  at 
once.  Miss  Pribik  led  the  way  to  a  huge  building  full  of 
' '  Pants-Makers, "  "  Nightshirt-Makers, "  "  Waist-Makers, ' ' 
and  publishers  of  calendars,  favors,  and  subscription  books. 
She  asked  for  Mr.  Gerst,  saw  him,  beckoned  him  over,  and 
hailed  him  with  bravado: 

"Well,  Mist'  Goist,  here  I  am,  back  to  the  mines. 
This  is  me  friend  Kip.  I  want  you  should  give  her  a  job — 
and  me,  too." 

Daphne  faced  Mr.  Gerst's  inspection  without  visible 
flinching,  though  she  was  uneasy  within.  Gerst  was  a 
large,  flamboyant  brute  with  eyes  that  seemed  less  to 
receive  light  than  to  send  forth  vision.  He  had  an  in- 

332 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

quisitive  and  stripping  gaze.  But  Daphne  must  endure 
it.  After  ransacking  Daphne  with  his  eyes,  he  grunted: 
"You  look  pretty  good  to  me,  kiddo.  You  can  begin 
Monday." 

"Thanks,"  said  Daphne,  humbly. 

"I'm  comin',  too,"  said  Miss  Pribik. 

"All  right,"  said  Gerst.  "It's  time  you  did.  We'll 
take  some  of  that  beef  off  you. ' '  And  he  playfully  pinched 
her  arm. 

She  yelped:  "Ouch!  That  hoits.  Quit  now!  Be  a 
gent'man,  can't  you?" 

Gerst  pinched  her  again  for  discipline.  Miss  Pribik 
started  to  speak  to  him  with  vigor,  but  checked  herself 
and  spoke  in  her  most  duchess  manner.  "Well,  it's  up 
to  me  to  be  a  lady  even  if  you  can't  ack  as  a  gent'man 
should,  you  big  Swede." 

Gerst  laughed.  Adroitly  evading  his  pincers,  Mis? 
Pribik  led  the  way  out,  and  Daphne  trailed  her  outside. 
Miss  Pribik  said: 

"That  Goist  guy  is  sure  one  case.  He  gets  so  fresh! 
Most  the  goils  just  hate  it.  But  what  can  a  party  do  if 
you  need  the  money  and  your  boss  won't  behave?  Some 
them  slave-drivers  is  all  the  time  pawin'  round,  and  if  a 
goil  don't  like  it  they  tell  her  right  where  to  go.  I  hate 
to  be  swore  at,  don't  choo?  Once  in  a  while  a  new  goil 
takes  a  swipe  at  Goist,  but  if  he  gets  gay  with  you,  for 
Gawd's  sake  don't  hit  him  or  nothin'.  He'd  just  as  soon 
hit  back  as  not.  I  seen  him  black  a  goil's  eye  once  for 
bitin'  him  in  a  roughhouse." 

Daphne  loathed  and  feared  the  man  already.  He 
stood  like  a  glowering  menace  in  the  path  ahead  of  her. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

MONDAY  morning  at  eight  Daphne  reported  for  work 
with  the  L'Art  de  Luxe  Publishing  Society,  pro- 
nounced by  its  own  people  (who  ought  to  know)  "Lar  de 
Lucks." 

This  firm  was  engaged  in  the  peculiarly  Anglo-Saxon 
business  of  grazing  the  censorship  as  closely  as  possible. 
It  printed  everything  that  it  dared  to  print  under  the 
whimsically  Puritanic  eye  of  the  law.  Toward  the  au- 
thorities it  turned  the  white  side  of  a  banner  of  culture, 
claiming  to  put  in  the  hands  of  the  people  the  noblest 
works  of  foreign  genius  and  defying  any  but  an  impure 
mind  to  find  impurity  in  its  classic  wares.  The  other 
side  of  the  banner  was  purple  and  informed  the  customers 
by  every  prurient  innuendo  that  the  books  were  published 
in  their  entirety  without  expurgation.  Vice  has  its 
hypocritical  cant  no  less  than  religion. 

The  difficult  thing  is  the  interesting  thing.  There 
exists  in  the  average  mind  a  passionate  longing  to  see  in 
print  the  words  and  ideas  that  are  tiresomely  common- 
place in  thought  and  speech,  but  exceedingly  rare  in 
publication — as  if  the  eye  and  ear  were  jealous  of  each 
other. 

It  was  the  business  of  the  L'Art  de  Luxe  company 
to  promise  the  eye  more  than  the  law  allowed  it  to  pro- 
duce. But  it  succeeded  in  persuading  numbers  of  cu- 
riosity-tormented people  to  read  through  the  works  of 
many  thorough  masters  like  Balzac  and  De  Maupassant. 
They  rarely  found  exactly  what  they  sought,  but  they 
must  have  scraped  off  some  benefit  in  their  journey. 
The  "Society"  had  won  a  large  success  with  a  gaudily 

334 


LEILA  felt  a  rapturous  desire  to  kiss  him  and  call 
She  was  studying  the  models  as  they  lounged  al 
much  money  does  a  model  earn?" 


«  of  gratitude.    Daphne  sat  thinking,  but  not  of  clothes. 
shop.     Suddenly  she  spoke.     "Oh,   Mr.  Dutilh,  how 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

printed  edition  of  Balzac,  "strictly  limited  to  one  hundred 
numbered  copies,  of  which  this  is  No.  — ."  They  had 
sold  several  thousand  of  this  hundred,  and  the  name  of 
"Bawlzac"  was  revered  by  the  heads  of  the  firm. 

It  was  now  issuing  a  similar  edition  of  De  Maupassant 
to  a  "carefully  selected"  list — carefully  selected  from 
every  available  source  of  names  likely  to  be  worn  by 
people  moneyed  enough  to  subscribe.  This  edition  was 
going  well  in  spite  of  the  war,  and  Bawlzac  was  being 
shoved  from  his  throne  by  "Dee  Moppason." 

Daphne  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  Her  task  was  once 
more  to  address  envelopes  and  make  out  index-cards 
showing  what  "literature"  had  been  sent  to  each  "pros- 
pect," with  what  result.  If  an  "inquiry  "  did  not  speedily 
become  an  "order"  it  must  receive  the  first  "follow-up" 
and  the  various  "hurry-ups"  and  finally  the  extra  in- 
ducements. 

Daphne  neither  knew  nor  cared  how  the  names  on  the 
lists  were  come  by — whether  by  purchase  from  patent- 
medicine  or  other  companies,  or  by  compilation  from 
directories  of  directors,  or  college  catalogues,  or  howsoever. 
The  names  flowed  in  at  her  eyes  and  out  at  her  pen  as  if 
short-circuited  from  her  mind. 

One  day,  toward  the  end  of  her  first  week,  she  was 
startled  to  find  before  her  a  card  bearing  the  legend 
"Duane,  Thomas."  His  address  was  given,  and  the  facts 
that  he  had  bought  the  three-quarter-morocco  Balzac, 
the  half-leather  Fielding  and  Smollett,  and  the  levant 
Court  Memoirs.  He  had  not  yet  taken  the  bait  for  the 
De  Maupassant.  He  was  about  to  receive  the  supreme 
follow-up. 

Daphne  pondered  his  card  and  his  taste.  The  record 
amused  her;  yet  it  pleased  her.  It  was  like  him  to  take 
the  soft,  luxurious  bindings.  She  imagined  that  his 
.library  had  deep  animal  pelts  on  the  floor  and  fathomless 
leather  fauteuils.  He  probably  already  owned  De  Mau- 
passant in  the  original. 

339 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  was  shaken  from  her  pensive  mood  by  the  sudden 
commotion  of  all  the  women.  All  eyes  had  seen  the 
minute  and  the  hour  hands  in  conjunction  at  XII.  Names 
were  left  off  in  the  middle;  pens  fell  from  poised  hands. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  women  to  bolt  from  their 
tables  to  their  lunch-boxes  or  for  the  elevators,  in  which 
some  descended  to  dairy  restaurants  and  some  to  soda- 
fountains.  Some  did  not  eat  at  all.  Daphne  had  usually 
patronized  a  quick-lunch  room,  one  of  the  Childs  string 
of  immaculate  ivory  beads. 

But  to-day  she  had  left  home  with  nothing  but  her 
car  fare.  She  would  not  borrow  from  the  girls,  even  from 
the  solicitous  Miss  Pribik.  She  would  not  accept  a 
proffered  banana  or  a  sandwich.  Miss  Pribik  assumed 
she  was  off  her  feed,  and  she  let  it  go  at  that. 

Those  who  brought  their  food  with  them  ate  it  greedily 
and  swiftly  amid  a  clatter  of  gossip  and  repartee.  The 
women  were  of  a  lower  class  than  at  Mr.  Chiwis'  firm, 
or  less  controlled.  Their  language  was  rough  and  coarse, 
and  often  appallingly  vile. 

The  day  being  warm,  as  soon  as  the  feast  was  over  the 
women  made  for  the  fire-escapes,  which  were  as  large  as 
piazzas.  On  these  gridirons  they  crowded,  bandying  wits 
with  other  girls  and  with  men  on  other  fire-escapes  or  in 
the  windows  of  other  buildings.  Daphne  took  the  air 
awhile  with  the  rest,  but  the  shouts  of  the  men  in  other 
windows  and  the  answers  of  her  companions  drove 
her  in. 

Daphne  found  herself  alone.  She  was  glad  of  the  quiet 
and  the  solitude,  while  it  lasted — which  was  not  long,  for 
Gerst  came  back  unexpectedly  early. 

His  eye  met  Daphne's.  He  started  toward  her,  and 
then,  seeing  that  she  glanced  away,  went  on  to  his  desk. 
He  stood  there  manifestly  irresolute  a  moment.  He 
glanced  at  Daphne  again,  at  the  fire-escapes,  at  the 
empty  room.  Then  he  went  to  the  first  of  the  tables 
and  with  labored  carelessness  inspected  the  work  of  the 

340 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

absentee.  He  drifted  along  the  aisle  toward  Daphne, 
throwing  her  now  and  then  an  interrogative  smile  that 
filled  her  with  a  fierce  anxiety. 

She  knew  his  reputation.  She  had  seen  his  vulgar 
scuffles  with  some  of  the  girls,  had  heard  his  odious  words. 
She  was  convinced  that  he  was  about  to  pay  her  the 
horrible  compliment  of  his  attention. 

Her  heart  began  to  flutter  with  fear  and  wrath.  She 
felt  that  if  he  spoke  to  her  she  would  scream ;  if  he  put  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder  or  her  chair  she  would  kill  him,  with 
a  pair  of  scissors  or  the  knife  with  which  she  scraped  off 
blots.  .  .  .  No,  she  must  not  kill  him.  But  she  would 
have  to  strike  him  on  the  mouth. 

But  that  meant  instant  dismissal  at  the  very  least. 
He  might  smash  his  fist  into  her  face  or  her  breast  or 
knock  her  to  the  floor  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  She 
had  seen  too  much  of  life  recently  to  cherish  longer  the 
pretty  myth  that  the  poor  are  good  to  the  poor.  She  had 
seen  how  shabby  women  fared  with  street-car  conductors 
and  subway  guards.  She  had  seen  her  own  prestige 
dwindle  as  her  clothes  lost  freshness. 

But  the  violence  of  Gerst's  resentment  would  be  a 
detail.  The  horror  was  the  mere  thought  of  his  touch. 

There  was  time  enough  for  her  mind,  racing  like  a 
propeller  out  of  water,  to  ponder  the  mystery  of  the 
sacredness  of  person.  Why  should  one's  flesh  creep  at 
the  thought  of  a  mere  touch  ?  In  the  jams  in  the  subway 
she  endured  the  closest  proximity  of  strange  men.  Yet 
she  felt  no  offense  in  the  contiguity. 

But  for  this  man  even  to  approach  her  would  be  a 
smothering  abomination — to  be  revenged  with  ferocity. 
A  soul's  body  is  like  a  nation's  flag  or  its  soil.  Invasion 
must  be  repelled  at  any  cost. 

She  rose  quickly  and  tried  to  reach  the  fire-escape. 
That  was  the  solution — to  join  the  crowd. 

But  Gerst  filled  the  aisle.  She  sidled  past  two  tables 
into  the  next  aisle.  He  laughed  and  sidled  across  to  the 

341 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

same  aisle.     She  tried  to  hasten  by.     He  put  his  arms 
out  and  snickered: 

"What's  the  rush,  girlie?    Nobody  hollered  'Fire!'" 

"Let  me  pass,  please,"  she  mumbled. 

"Aw,  wait  ta  minute,  wait  ta  minute,  cancha?  I  got 
sump'n'  nice  to  say  to  you.  You  know  you're  some  squab. 
You  ain't  like  these  other  hens.  There's  class  to  you. 
You're  the  classiest  little  dame's  been  in  this  bunch  since 
I  been  here." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Daphne,  "and  now,  if  you  please, 
I'd  like  to  get  by." 

"Wait  ta  minute,  wait  ta  minute.  What  'd  you  say  if 
I  was  to  ast  you  to  go  to  a  show  ta-night,  huh?  What  'd 
you  say?" 

"Thank  you.     I  have  another —    I  couldn't." 

"S'mother  eve,  then?    Or  to  a  dance,  huh?" 

"Thank  you,  I'm  afraid  I  can't." 

"Why  not?  Come  on!  Why  not?  'Ain't  I  got  class 
enough  for  you?" 

"Oh  yes,  but —    Please,  let  me  by." 

He  stared  at  her,  and  his  hands  twitched,  and  his  lips. 
His  eyes  ran  over  her  face  and  her  bosom  as  if  she  were 
a  forbidden  text.  She  was  trying  to  remember  what 
Duane  had  told  her  about  the  way  to  quell  a  man.  She 
felt  that  she  must  give  the  theory  another  chance.  It  had 
succeeded  before.  With  great  difficulty  and  in  all  trepi- 
dation she  parroted  her  old  formula. 

"Mr.  Gerst,  you  don't  have  to  flirt  with  me.  I  don't 
expect  it,  and  I  don't  like  it,  so  please  let  me  go." 

He  stared  at  her,  trying  to  understand  her  amazing 
foreign  language.  Then  he  sniffed  with  amused  unbelief, 
dropped  his  hands,  and  stood  aside. 

Daphne  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes.  The  charm  had 
worked  the  third  time!  She  darted  forward  to  get  away 
before  the  spell  was  broken.  As  she  passed  him — whether 
he  suddenly  changed  his  mind  or  had  only  pretended  to 
acquiesce — he  enveloped  her  in  his  arms, 

342 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  almost  swooned  in  the  onset  of  fear  and  the  suf- 
focation of  his  embrace.  Then  she  fought  him,  striking, 
scratching,  writhing.  He  crowded  her  against  the  nearest 
table  and  tried  to  reach  her  lips  across  her  left  elbow. 

Her  outflung  right  hand  struck  against  an  inkwell, 
recognized  it  as  a  weapon  of  a  sort,  and,  clutching  it, 
swept  it  up  and  emptied  it  into  his  face. 

His  satyric  leer  vanished  in  a  black  splash.  His  hands 
went  to  his  drenched  eyes.  Daphne,  released,  dropped  the 
inkwell  and  fled  to  the  locker-room  while  he  stamped 
about,  howling  like  the  blinded  Cyclops.  Daphne  did  not 
stay  to  taunt  him  nor  to  demand  her  wages.  She  caught 
a  glimpse  of  faces  at  the  fire-escape  windows,  but,  hugging 
her  hat  and  coat,  she  made  good  her  escape. 

She  knew  what  she  was  escaping  from,  but  not  what  to. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

DAPHNE  scuttered  for  the  subway  as  a  fugitive  rab- 
bit to  its  burrow.  But  she  was  not  a  rabbit  and  she 
felt  suffocated  in  the  tunnel.  She  could  not  endure  to  be 
quiet  in  the  presence  of  so  many  goggle  eyes  like  aligned 
buttons.  She  left  the  train  at  the  next  station  and 
walked  rapidly  to  Fifth  Avenue,  and  up  it  homeward. 

The  public  luncheon  hour  was  not  quite  ended  and  the 
lower  mile  of  the  Avenue,  once  devoted  to  the  best  shops 
and  the  most  gorgeous  shoppers,  was  now  packed  from 
wall  to  wall  with  immigrant  garment-workers  from  the 
suit  and  cloak  and  pant  and  hat  and  sock  and  collar  and 
shirt  and  nightshirt  and  pajama  and  underwear  and 
woolen  and  linen  and  feather  and  fur  and  velvet  and 
plush  and  silk  and  pseudo-silk  and  leather  and  celluloid 
and  hide  and  bone  and  button  and  all  the  other  industries 
that  shabby  people  toil  over  for  the  decoration  of  others. 

The  workers,  most  of  them  new  come  to  this  country, 
brought  with  them  their  foreign  habit  of  standing  in  the 
street,  as  well  as  their  native  smells  and  beards  and 
cigarettes.  Daphne  had  never  before  happened  upon  this 
outpouring  from  the  lofts  which  floods  the  Avenue  at 
twelve  and  vanishes  at  one. 

She  pushed  her  way  through,  stifled  and  afraid  of  the 
poor  boors  who  stared  at  her  without  budging  to  let  her 
pass.  She  had  for  them  all  the  dread  one  nation  has  for 
the  poor  of  another.  They  were  all  as  odious  as  Gerst 
to  her,  and  she  hated  toil  and  toilers. 

When  she  had  escaped  from  this  mob  into  the  clean  and 
brilliant  avenue  above  Twenty-third  Street  the  disgust  of 

344 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

her  experience  clung  about  her  memory.  Alternately  she 
shivered  with  repugnance  at  the  recollection  of  Gerst's 
touch,  and  fevered  with  wrath  at  his  presumption  and  at 
the  injustice  of  her  plight.  She  had  been  willing  to  work 
hard  and  humbly,  and  she  had  been  driven  from  the  refuge 
of  labor  by  the  insolence  of  a  foreman.  She  must  endure 
either  the  fire  of  insult  or  the  ice  of  charity.  She  had  but 
a  choice  among  shames.  Life  was  awfully  unjust. 

She  wanted  to  telephone  Clay  and  tell  him  the  dire 
news.  But  she  felt  sure  that  he  would  not  rest  till  he  had 
called  on  Gerst  and  beaten  him  to  the  ground.  That 
would  be  sickening;  and  there  was  danger  of  publicity 
and  prosecution. 

There  was  a  worse  peril  yet,  the  peril  of  non-success. 
Gerst  was  ever  so  much  bigger  than  Clay.  Even  the 
dignity  of  Clay's  revenge  might  not  insure  its  victory-. 

It  must  be  disconcerting  to  be  a  woman  and  dependent 
on  a  champion  and  then  to  find  that  protector  confronted 
by  a  bigger  man.  Suddenly  she  remembered  Elsa's  di- 
lemma as  she  had  seen  it  once  when  "Lohengrin"  had  been 
performed  in  Cleveland  by  a  traveling  opera  company. 
It  had  taken  all  the  power  of  Wagner's  name  and  all  the 
beauty  of  his  music  to  keep  her  from  laughing  aloud 
when,  in  answer  to  fat  Elsa's  vociferous  prayer  to  Heaven, 
a  stuffed  swan  had  come  jiggling  and  zigzagging  between 
the  canvas  waves,  drawing  a  submerged  wagon  on  which 
a  fat  little  Lohengrin  teetered.  He  was  about  six  inches 
shorter  than  Elsa. 

Lohengrin  had  been  manifestly  most  afraid  of  falling 
overboard.  He  had  stepped  ashore  gingerly  and  brought 
his  great  paunch  with  him.  He  had  sung  in  a  high,  wiry 
voice  like  a  jews'-harp  the  farewell  to  the  swan,  and  the 
stage-hands  had  drawn  it  off  with  the  least  possible  effect 
of  miracle. 

The  Telramund  whom  Lohengrin  must  conquer  had 
been  a  huge  fellow  of  barbaric  voice,  and  when  Lohengrin 
beat  him  to  earth  with  a  sword  that  he  could  hardly 

345 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

wield  the  irreverent  young  man  who  sat  next  to  Daphne 
had  whispered,  "Say,  that  fight  was  fixed.  Telly  laid 
down  for  the  gate  receipts." 

Daphne  recalled  this  as  she  walked  up  the  Avenue,  but 
she  did  not  smile  now  as  then.  Clay  was  no  fat  Teutonic 
tenor,  but  he  was  not  half  so  burly  as  Gerst. 

Clay  was  sturdy  and  brave  and  Daphne  loved  him  in  a 
motherly  way  among  other  ways,  but  this  was  no  time 
for  her  to  mother  him  or  for  him  to  permit  her  to.  This 
was  a  time  when  a  woman  needed  an  irresistible  defender. 
But  how  could  there  be  an  irresistible  defender  for  every 
woman?  Daphne  had  drawn  one  who  had  every  other 
charm  except  great  muscle.  She  must  therefore  not  tell 
her  lover  of  her  insult  lest  she  accomplish  nothing  but  his 
degradation  in  addition  to  her  own.  Clay's  temper  would 
drive  him  to  attack  Gerst,  but  it  would  not  furnish  him 
with  thews.  No  fine  sense  of  remorse  would  restrain  a 
wretch  like  Gerst.  He  would  whip  Clay,  batter  him, 
perhaps  cripple  him.  It  was  an  outrageous  situation. 

It  seemed  to  Daphne  to  render  love  as  ridiculous  as  the 
theory  that  the  laboring-man  and  his  people  and  problems 
are  subjects  for  pity.  The  laborer's  chief  danger,  as  she 
saw  it,  was  from  other  laborers,  from  foremen,  forewomen, 
bosses,  policemen,  not  from  the  rich. 

She  wondered  what  new  job  she  could  get.  She  had 
had  enough  of  the  simple  humble.  She  wanted  some 
taste  of  elegance.  Passing  a  book-store  with  its  displays 
of  the  wares  of  the  appalling  number  of  writers,  she  decided 
that  she  would  like  to  read  manuscripts  for  a  publishing- 
house,  or  review  books.  She  saw  the  portrait  of  an  actress 
in  the  window  of  a  picture-gallery.  She  would  like  to  be 
a  dramatic  critic  or  an  art  critic. 

She  laughed  a  little  at  herself  for  the  impudence  of  her 
ambition.  She  had  failed  as  an  actress  and  so  she  would 
be  a  critic.  She  could  not  make  manuscripts,  therefore 
she  would  pass  upon  them.  She  could  not  paint,  therefore 
she  would  make  a  good  judge.  She  laughed  at  the  joke  of 

346 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

it.  She  was  vaguely  aware  that  the  joke  was  not  new,  but 
it  amused  her  dismal  little  soul. 

She  walked  rapidly  for  the  comfort  of  the  restlessness, 
but  there  was  no  comfortable  destination  ahead  of  her. 
She  found  Mrs.  Chiwis  at  home  with  her  disconsolate 
husband.  Daphne  dared  not  tell  them  just  yet  that  she 
had  lost  her  place.  She  would  tell  them  when  she  got 
another  one.  For  fear  that  they  might  ask  why  she  was 
home  so  early,  she  went  down  to  Bayard's  apartment. 

She  wanted  to  tell  Bayard  and  Leila  what  had  happened. 
It  was  safe,  she  felt  sure.  Bayard  would  never  attack 
Gerst.  He  would  be  more  likely  to  rail  at  Daphne  for 
bringing  the  trouble  on  herself. 

Leila  let  her  in  at  the  door,  but  she  was  in  a  militant 
humor.  She  said,  "Hello!"  grimly  and  stepped  back  for 
Daphne  to  enter.  Daphne  found  Bayard  still  aglow  with 
interrupted  quarrel.  He  said,  "Hello!"  with  a  dismal 
connotation. 

Daphne  was  in  despair.  She  could  not  find  a  haven  even 
here.  She  sighed:  "Sorry  I  interrupted  you.  I'll  get 
out  and  leave  you  in  peace." 

"In  peace!"  Bayard  and  Leila  almost  fought  over  the 
sarcastic  echo. 

Both  seized  Daphne  when  she  made  for  the  door.  They 
had  fought  so  long  and  frequently  without  audience  that 
they  wanted  a  listener. 

"What  do  you  suppose  that  brother  of  yours  orders 
me  to  do  now?"  said  Leila,  whirling  Daphne  toward  her. 

"I  can't  imagine,"  said  Daphne,  incredulous  of  Bay- 
ard's ordering  Leila  to  do  anything. 

"He  wants  me  to  go  to  Dutilh  and  put  up  a  poor 
mouth  and  humiliate  myself." 

Bayard  snatched  Daphne  to  him  and  stormed:  "She 
bought  the  clothes,  didn't  she,  without  consulting  me? 
She  wouldn't  send  'em  back  as  you  did  yours;  she  wore 
'em  out,  paraded  'em  before  other  men  there  in  Newport 
while  I  was  slaving  here.  And  now  that  Dutilh  insists 

347 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

on  money  that  I  haven't  got,  and  can't  get,  she  won't 
even  go  explain  it  to  him.  That's  all  I  ask  her — to  ex- 
plain it  to  him  and  ask  him  to  be  patient  so  that  I  won't 
be  sued.  I  can't  stand  that.  I've  had  every  other 
calamity  but  I've  never  been  sued  for  debt." 

"Ah,  he  won't  sue,"  Leila  broke  in.  "He  doesn't  want 
to  lose  a  good  customer." 

' '  Good  customer !"  Bayard  mocked.  ' '  Takes  his  clothes 
and  doesn't  pay!  That's  her  idea  of  a  good  customer! 
Dutilh's  bookkeeper  wrote  for  money  to  meet  him 
when  he  landed.  I  never  sent  it.  Now  he's  back.  He 
got  through  the  customs  somehow,  and  here's  another 
letter — very  urgent.  Here's  the  same  bill  with  an  epi- 
taph on  it,  '  Long  past  due  7  He'll  put  it  in  a  collector's 
hands.  I  would  myself  in  his  place.  I  ask  Leila  to  go 
tell  him  about  my  hard  luck  and  my  fine  prospects — 
play  fair  with  him — and  with  me.  But  will  she  do  it? 
No!  She  won't  do  anything  for  me." 

Daphne  was  swayed  by  his  emotion.  She  pleaded: 
"Why  don't  you,  Leila?  You  have  such  winning  ways. 
I'll  go  with  you." 

Leila  hesitated,  then  answered  by  taking  up  her  hat 
and  slapping  it  on  her  head.  She  paused,  took  it  off 
again,  and  went  to  her  room,  unhooking  her  gown  as  she 
went;  she  knew  that  in  asking  favors  one  should  wear 
one's  best  appearances. 

Daphne  and  Bayard,  left  alone,  did  not  dare  to  speak. 
They  felt  drawn  together  by  the  family  distress;  and 
Leila  seemed  to  be  a  foreign  anarch.  But  they  were 
afraid  to  anger  her. 

Bayard  took  a  safer  topic.  He  grumbled,  "How  are 
you  getting  along  at  your  office?" 

Daphne  felt  unable  to  intrude  her  own  troubles  on 
his.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  It  is  a  kind  of  white 
lie,  the  shrug. 

Bayard  was  too  harassed  to  interest  himself  further. 
"Hang  on  to  your  job  as  long  as  you  can,  old  girl,  for 

348 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

you'll  have  to  support  us  all,  I  guess.  You're  the  only 
one  of  us  that  can  get  a  job  or  earn  a  cent.  That's  the 
advantage  of  being  a  pretty  girl." 

Daphne  was  almost  moved  to  tell  him  some  of  the  dis- 
advantages of  being  a  pretty  girl,  but  she  felt  that  the 
time  was  unfit  for  exploiting  her  own  woes.  She  ached 
for  some  one  to  disclose  them  to,  but  she  withheld  them. 

Leila  came  in,  arrayed  in  her  very  finest.  She  was 
smiling  in  the  contentment  of  beauty  at  its  best.  "When 
you  ask  credit  you've  got  to  look  as  if  you  didn't  need 
it,"  she  said.  She  kissed  Bayard  a  doleful  good-by  and 
went  out  with  Daphne.  She  was  going  to  take  a  taxi, 
but  she  had  no  money.  She  asked  Daphne  for  a  loan, 
but  Daphne  shook  her  head  and  said: 

"You  flatter  me." 

"We'll  walk,"  said  Leila.  "It  looks  richer  than  riding 
in  a  'bus.  A  millionairess  walks  for  exercise,  but  there's 
no  excuse  for  a  'bus  except  economy." 

Daphne  wanted  to  tell  Leila  about  her  adventure,  but 
Leila  had  too  many  of  her  own  miseries  to  recount.  She 
walked  less  and  less  briskly  the  nearer  they  came  to 
Dutilh's.  She  said  that  she  would  rather  die  than  face 
him;  but  after  pausing  outside  his  delectable  windows 
and  staring  at  the  silken  treasures  with  the  eyes  of  a 
ragged  gamine,  she  seized  Daphne's  hand  and  rushed  the 
door. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

HPHEY  found  Dutilh  in  a  state  of  unusual  excitement 
1  and  exhaustion.  There  were  few  customers  in  his 
place  and  he  left  them  to  the  other  salespeople.  He  ad- 
vanced on  Leila  and  Daphne  and  gave  a  hand  to  each. 

"Why,  oh  why  in  the  name  of  Paul  Poiret  didn't  you 
come  in  a  week  ago  ?  The  pirates  have  taken  every  decent 
gown  I  had.  The  sewing-women  are  working  like  mad  to 
reproduce  'em,  but  there's  nothing  left  fit  to  show,  except 
to  Pittsburg  and  Plattsburg  tourists.  Where  did  you  get 
that  awful  rag  you  have  on?" 

"Here,"  said  Leila. 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  remember.  It's  beautiful.  Sit  down. 
I'm  dead.  Have  a  cigarette?  Have  a  cup  of  tea?  Oh, 
Miss  Galvey — tea  for  three,  please.  Nom  d'un  nom  d'un 
boule-dogue  —  excuse  my  French,  but — did  you  hear  of 
my  latest  escapade?  Well,  what  if  you  did?  I'll  tell 
you  again. 

"You  know  I  dashed  over  to  Paris,  as  usual,  to  get  the 
choice  models.  The  big  American  department  stores 
carried  off  the  first  ones — trash  made  up  especially  for  the 
canaille.  The  real  designs  were  kept  back  for  me,  of 
course.  I  was  dawdling  about,  studying  things,  when — 
bang!  bang!  the  war  broke  out!  Paris  went  crazy.  All 
the  men  dressmakers  were  called  to  arms — they  dropped 
their  scissors  and  tape-measures  and  grabbed  guns.  The 
women  were  worse,  dashing  about  bidding  good-by  to 
their  husbands  and  their  lovers — some  of  'em  so  excited 
they  couldn't  tell  which  was  which. 

"The  shops  were  madhouses.  Money  was  not  to  be 

350 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

had.  Drafts,  letters  of  credit,  paper  money — they  wouldn't 
look  at.  Conspuez  le  dollar  bill. 

"Americans  were  in  a  stampede  for  home.  The  trains 
wouldn't  take  'em,  of  course.  The  trains  were  for 
soldiers.  I  had  my  car  with  me,  thank  God!  Motored 
down  from  Dieppe,  you  know.  An  inspiration  came  to 
me.  I  went  to  two  or  three  of  the  big  houses.  I  said, 
'Look  here,  messieurs,  mesdames,  you'd  better  give  me 
those  models  of  yours.  They're  no  good  to  you.  The 
Americans  are  in  flight.  You  can't  sell  anything  to  the 
French  but  mourning.  The  Germans  will  take  them  with- 
out pay.  Better  trust  me.  I'll  send  you  the  money  as 
soon  as  you  are  ready  for  it.'  They  saw  the  idea.  'En 
serves  vous,'  they  said.  And  I  did. 

"I  went  through  those  shops  like  a  Kansas  cyclone 
going  through  a  clothes-line.  I  snatched  gowns  off  of 
hangers  and  out  of  closets  and  show-windows  and  off  of 
the  backs  of  squealing  models.  Half  of  the  dresses  were 
only  pinned  together.  I  slammed  'em  into  boxes  and 
tied  'em  up  and  dumped  'em  into  my  car.  Then  I  met 
an  American  who  said: 

"'Have  you  got  a  passport?' 

"I  had  no  passport — never  had. 

"He  said:    '  You  can't  get  out  of  town  without  one.' 

"  I  went  to  the  Embassy.  Gawd !  a  line  of  people  a  mile 
long  waiting  there! 

"Inspiration  number  two:  I  bought  a  big  English  flag. 
I  said,  '  I  am  an  English  officer,  called  home  in  a  hurry  to 
save  England  and  France.'  I  put  the  flag  on  my  car, 
and  tooted  my  horn  and  didn't  stop  for  anybody.  The 
people  recognized  the  flag  and  I  was  cheered  all  the 
way  to  the  coast.  '  Vive  VAngleterre!  Vive  Vofficier 
anglais!' 

"Wouldn't  it  kill  you?  Me!  They  called  me  admiral, 
general,  Keeshnair,  Prince  de  Gales,  capitaine,  everything 
but  dressmaker.  Regiments  turned  out  of  the  road  to 
make  way  for  me.  I  was  saluted  everywhere. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"I  made  Dieppe,  rolled  on  to  the  last  boat,  got  to 
Southampton,  caught  the  first  boat  out,  and  here  I  am. 

"Some  stunt  for  the  little  dressmaker,  eh?  Talk  about 
Sheridan's  ride!  and  Paul  Revere!  and  the  Johnstown 
flood  man! 

"Other  New  York  dressmakers  were  caught.  They 
waited  for  passports,  they  waited  for  trains.  Some  of 
'em  are  waiting  yet.  As  soon  as  the  dealers  here  heard 
of  my  good  luck  they  came  down  on  my  shop  like  a 
Ku-Klux  Klan.  I  couldn't  turn  'em  away.  This  place 
was  like  an  auction-room.  They  fought  for  my  model 
gowns,  tore  'em  away  from  me  and  one  another.  How 
much  do  you  suppose  I  sold  in  two  days?  You'll  never 
guess.  Twenty-five  thousand  dollars'  worth.  Bad,  eh?" 

He  sank  back  and  quaffed  his  tea  with  a  godlike  serenity. 
He  was  ecstatic  over  his  exploit,  and  with  reason.  Other 
men  had  carried  good  news  and  bad  and  military  tidings. 
He  had  brought  to  the  women  of  America  salvation  from 
wearing  their  last  year's  fashions  or,  worse  yet,  those  of 
domestic  design. 

The  relief  of  Lucknow  and  of  Peking  were  nothing  to 
the  achievement  of  Dutilh  and  the  other  fearless  importers 
who  escaped  from  the  siege  of  Europe  by  devious  ways  and 
brought  home  the  sacred  messages  of  the  fashion  gods. 

Dutilh  Was  made  gracious  by  glory:  "Come  back  in  a 
few  days  and  I'll  have  replicas  of  the  models,"  he  said. 
"I  didn't  forget  either  of  you  when  I  was  in  Paris.  I  have 
a  siren  gown  for  you,  Mrs.  Kip,  that  will  break  your 
heart  with  joy.  You'd  murder  to  get  it.  And  as  for 
you,  Miss  Kip — well,  you'll  simply  be  indecently  demure 
in  the  one  I  call  ' Innocence.' " 

Daphne  was  a  trifle  shocked,  but  Leila's  eyes  filled  with 
tears  at  the  mockery  of  such  talk.  She  moaned:  "I 
didn't  come  to  buy.  I  came  to  apologize  and  beg  for 
mercy.  I  owe  you  a  lot  of  money,  and  I  haven't  a  cent." 

"Who  has?  What  of  it?  Nobody's  paying  anybody. 
My  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  is  mostly  credit." 

352 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"But  I  had  an  urgent  letter  from  your  bookkeeper, 
or  somebody." 

"Don't  mind  her.  She  gets  excited.  Nobody  pays 
me.  You  come  in  and  get  another  gown  and  you'll 
catch  a  millionaire  with  it." 

It  was  hard  for  Dutilh  to  keep  his  clients  clear  in  his 
memory. 

Leila  rebuked  him,  "I  already  have  a  husband." 

He  smiled  slyly  and  unashamed.  "Only  one?  How 
exclusive!  He  must  be  young  and  handsome." 

"He  is." 

"Well,  then  we'll  have  to  help  you  to  keep  him.  I'll 
sell  you  another  gown,  one  of  those  that  I  call  the  Hus- 
band-holders." 

"But  I  can't  afford  it." 

"And  I  can't  afford  to  have  my  children  going  round 
in  last  year's  rags.  You  do  as  you're  told  and  come 
around  next  week.  I'll  get  my  money  out  of  you  some 
day.  Trust  me  for  that." 

Leila  felt  a  rapturous  desire  to  kiss  him  and  call  him 
names  of  gratitude.  He  was  generous  by  impulse  and 
patient,  and  nobody's  fool  at  that.  The  thoughts  of 
tailors  are  long,  long  thoughts. 

Daphne  sat  thinking,  but  not  of  clothes.  The  labor 
problem  had  almost  defeminized  her.  She  was  studying 
the  models  as  they  lounged  about  the  shop.  Suddenly 
she  spoke.  "Oh,  Mr.  Dutilh,  how  much  money  does  a 
model  earn?" 

"How  can  I  tell,  my  dear?  Besides,  what  business  is 
it  of  mine?  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  See  her  blush.  The 
first  blush  I've  seen  in  my  shop  for  a  year.  I  wish  I 
could  have  it  framed.  I  know  what  you  mean.  You 
mean  what  salary  do  I  pay?  Common  clothes-horses  get 
fifteen  or  sixteen  dollars.  Better  lookers  get  better  pay. 
You're  worth  a  thousand  a  week  at  least.  Want  a  job?" 

"Yes." 

His  smile  was  quenched.  He  studied  her  across  his 
12  353 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

cup.  His  keen  little  eyes  had  learned  to  pierce  to  women's 
souls  through  their  pretenses.  He  saw  the  anxiety  in  her 
curiosity. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  said.  "Has  he  run  off  with 
another  girl,  or  do  you  expect  to  go  fishing  for  a  millionaire 
in  my  pond?" 

"I  need  the  money.  I've  had  hard  luck."  Daphne 
said  it  so  solemnly  that  he  grew  solemn,  too. 

"That's  too  bad!  Well,  I've  got  more  girls  now  than 
I  need.  Nobody  as  beautiful  as  you,  of  course,  but — I 
suppose  I  could  let  some  one  go." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  that!" 

"Neither  could  I.  Well,  I'll  squeeze  you  in  some- 
where. But  I  can't  pay  you  as  much  as  you  are  worth. 
Would — umm — twenty  dollars  a  week  interest  you?" 

"It  would  fascinate  me." 

"All  right,  you're  engaged.  You  can  begin  next 
Monday."  He  turned  to  Leila.  "Do  you  want  a  job, 
too?" 

"No,  thank  you!"  Leila  snapped.  Her  eyes  were 
blacker  than  ever  with  rage,  and  her  red- white  cheeks 
curdled  with  shame.  She  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 
Her  brunette  beauty  had  the  threat  of  a  storm-loaded 
thundercloud. 

When  she  and  Daphne  had  taken  their  departure, 
Leila  still  dared  not  speak  to  Daphne  on  the  way  home. 
She  dared  not  speak  to  her  at  all. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

DAPHNE  knew  that  Leila  was  angry  and  why  she 
was.     Daphne  grew  angry  on  her  own  account,  ask- 
ing herself  what  sort  of  a  shameless  pride  was  this  of 
Leila's  that  felt  honor  in  stealing  Dutilh's  credit  and  dis- 
grace in  earning  his  cash? 

There  was  a  sultry,  sister-in-law  atmosphere  about 
them  when  they  reached .  home.  Daphne  went  in  with 
Leila,  because  she  lacked  the  courage  for  a  farewell. 

Leila  brought  triumph  to  Bayard.  She  told  him  what 
Dutilh  had  told  her  of  his  willingness  to  wait  for  his 
money. 

Bayard  straightened  up  as  Atlas  did  when  Hercules 
took  the  world  off  his  shoulders,  for  a  moment.  He  em- 
braced Leila  and  hailed  her  as  an  angel.  When  she  had 
taken  full  toll  of  her  success,  she  told  Bayard  what  Daphne 
had  done.  She  told  it  simply,  without  emphasis,  knowing 
its  effect. 

Bayard  laughed.  "Nonsense,  Leila;  you've  had  your 
sense  of  humor  scared  out  of  you !  Daphne's  only  joking. 
She's  not  crazy — yet."  Then  he  saw  the  grimness  in  the 
prettiness  of  Daphne.  His  eyes  interrogated  hers,  and 
she  nodded  with  vigor.  "Daphne!"  he  roared.  "You 
asked  Dutilh  for  a  position  among  his  models?  Great 
Lord  of  heaven,  I'll  telegraph  father  to  come  take  you 
home." 

"That's  all  right,"  Daphne  taunted.  "You'll  send  the 
message  collect,  and  he'll  never  be  able  to  pay  for  it,  so 
he'll  never  know  what  he  missed." 

"But  surely  we  are  not  such  beggars  that — •" 
355 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Who  has  any  money?  Who  has  anything  left  to 
pawn?" 

"But  there  must  be  other  jobs." 

"Get  me  one." 

"What  about  the  one  you've  got?" 

Then  she  told  him  of  her  encounter  with  the  foreman 
Gerst.  He  suffered  for  her  and  for  himself.  He  threat- 
ened to  kill  Gerst;  but  Daphne  said: 

"That  won't  pay  anybody's  board  but  your  own — in 
jail." 

"There  must  be  some  other  way." 

"Show  me." 

They  discussed  all  the  ways  they  could  think  of,  without 
encouragment.  Bayard  telephoned  to  friends  of  his  in 
magazine  and  newspaper  offices.  Some  of  them  had  now 
lost  their  own  places.  They  laughed  at  the  suggestion  of 
an  inexperienced  girl  gaining  a  position  where  veterans 
with  families  to  feed  were  being  cast  out  in  droves. 

Clay  Wimburn  came  in  after  dinner.  His  protests 
against  Daphne's  project  were  louder  than  Bayard's,  with 
the  added  rancor  of  jealousy.  But  he  had  no  substitute 
to  offer,  and  when  Daphne,  noting  that  his  chain  was  not 
looped  across  his  waistcoat,  as  usual,  asked  him  what  time 
it  was,  he  turned  a  greenish  yellow  with  shame. 

"And  it  was  a  gift  from  your  mother,  wasn't  it?" 
Daphne  asked. 

He  nodded.     He  was  answered  and  silenced. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Daphne. 

She  forebore  to  tell  him  of  the  Gerst  affair.  He  was 
deep  enough  in  the  mire.  He  went  away  a  little  later  and 
she  returned  to  her  cubbyhole  with  the  Chiwises. 

Her  progress  in  love  seemed  to  be  as  backward  as  in 
business.  She  found  herself  wishing  that  Clay  had  never 
come  to  Cleveland  or  that  she  had  never  left  there.  It 
was  treason,  but  she  could  not  help  it. 

She  found  Mrs.  Chivvis  alone  and  at  work,  as  usual, 
but  not  at  her  usual  work. 

356 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"What's  that  you're  doing?"  Daphne  asked,  not  caring 
much. 

"Filet.     See.     It's  pretty,  isn't  it?" 

"Exquisite." 

There  was  a  delicate  difficulty,  a  womanish  futility, 
about  the  little  square  web  that  appealed  to  Daphne 
after  the  coarse  realities  of  her  day. 

"Is  it  very  hard  to  learn?" 

"It's  easy  to  learn,  but  hard  to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Chiwis. 

"Teach  me,  will  you?  I  need  something  to  keep  me 
from  going  crazy." 

"Certainly,  my  dear.     Sit  down.     You  see,  you  just — ' 

There  followed  a  string  of  technical  terms  in  the  formi- 
dable dynamics  of  crochet — highly  improper  words  to  re- 
peat in  a  text  that  might  fall  into  the  hands  of  grown-up 
males. 

Daphne  comprehended  them,  and  they  aroused  her  to 
strange  enthusiasm.  The  task  gathered  and  soothed  her 
distracted  faculties  as  hardly  anything  else  could  have 
done.  As  a  troubled  man  can  forget  almost  any  grief 
or  worry  in  a  game  of  poker  or  billiards,  so  to  women 
there  is  a  mystic  nepenthe  in  webmaking.  They  must 
have  spider's  blood  in  them. 

The  nearest  Daphne  came  to  remembering  her  business 
fret  was  in  a  dreamy  murmur:  "It's  a  pity  there  isn't  a 
lot  of  money  in  this  sort  of  thing." 

"The  stores  charge  big  prices  for  it,"  said  Mrs.  Chiwis, 
"but  the  women  who  embroider  and  make  lace  never 
make  any  money." 

"There  ought  to  be  some  way  of  marketing  it  better," 
Daphne  said,  but  did  not  seize  the  idea  that  trailed  across 
her  mind.  She  was  diverted  from  it  to  an  immediate 
problem.  "What  do  I  do  now?  I'm  stuck." 

She  worked  until  her  eyes  ached  with  the  unaccustomed 
strain.  She  put  down  the  mesh  and  sat  idle,  watching 
Mrs.  Chiwis  plod. 

When  Mrs.  Chiwis  asked  her  how  her  office  work  was 
357 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

going  she  felt  impelled  to  tell  her  that  it  was  gone.     She 
told  her  about  Gerst. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  was  properly  horrified — and  a  little 
mystified.  She  had  never  been  subjected  to  such  ad- 
ventures. There  was  an  arctic  circle  about  her  that  froze 
flirtation  at  forty  yards. 

She  admitted  that  Daphne  was  justified  in  resigning  in 
haste,  though  it  was  an  expensive  admission  for  her,  since 
Daphne  was  resigning  wages  that  she  owed  to  Mrs.  Chiwis. 

Daphne  tried  to  encourage  her  landlady  by  telling  of  her 
engagement  to  work  for  Dutilh.  This  alarmed  Mrs. 
Chiwis  all  the  more.  She  did  not  approve  of  dress- 
makers' models.  Their  trade  seemed  unwomanly  in  its 
very  womanliness. 

"There  must  be  some  better  way  for  a  girl  to  earn 
money." 

"For  instance — "  was  Daphne's  countercheck. 

"If  you  and  I  could  go  into  some  partnership." 

"Such  as —  '  said  Daphne,  hiding  her  smile  at  the 
thought  of  so  misfit  a  combination. 

"I  don't  know,"  Mrs.  Chiwis  sighed.  "But  I'm  afraid 
I  shall  have  to  earn  some  money  some  way.  Poor  Mr. 
Chiwis  is  falling  ill  with  idleness  and  worry.  What  a 
funny  day  we're  living  in !  In  Europe  the  women  are  all 
doing  men's  work  while  the  men  shoot  at  one  another.  In 
Europe  the  women  are  driving  street-cars  and  harvesting 
crops  and  making  ammunition." 

"But  in  America  there's  no  work  for  anybody  to  do," 
said  Daphne.  "The  men  don't  do  anything  but  read 
bulletin-boards  and  extras  and  argue  about  the  news. 
The  women  haven't  even  that  to  do." 

"Still  there's  always  a  way  where  there's  a  will,"  Mrs. 
Chiwis  insisted.  "You  have  what  I  haven't — you  have 
pluck  and  initiative  and  the  courage  to  go  out  and  meet 
people.  I'm  only  good  to  take  care  of  the  pennies  and 
keep  the  accounts.  We'd  make  a  good  team  if  we  could 
find  a  good  wagon  to  draw." 

3S8 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

" It  would  be  fine !"  said  Daphne.  "Well,  I  may  dream 
of  something.  My  eyes  are  full  of  sand.  Good  night." 

"Good  night,  my  dear.  And  don't  go  to  that  dress- 
maker to-morrow.  Wait  a  few  days.  Something  better 
may  turnup." 

"I'm  not  engaged  till  next  week,"  Daphne  yawned. 
"And  I  may  be  lucky  and  dead  by  then.  That's  the  only 
solution  I  can  see  to  my  problems." 

"Oh!  My  dear!"  Mrs.  Chiwis  gasped,  being  religious. 
"Death  doesn't  solve  your  problems;  it  begins  them." 

"Then  there's  no  rest  anywhere,"  Daphne  sighed.  "I 
might  as  well  go  on  living.  Goodnight!" 

But  the  next  morning  she  was  very  much  alive  again, 
and  so  were  her  problems.  They  waited  for  her,  grinning 
across  the  foot  of  her  bed.  They  followed  her  about 
all  day,  followed  her  in  her  pursuit  of  work.  When  Clay 
Wimburn  called  they  infested  the  place  like  a  troop  of 
younger  brothers.  They  trailed  at  heel  when  Clay  and 
she  went  to  the  Park,  and  mocked  their  love.  And  the 
autumnal  air  was  ominously  cold;  it  whispered  of  winter. 

Dead  leaves  fell  on  them  now  and  then  with  a  ghostly 
effect  of  helpless  victims  letting  go  their  hold  on  life. 

Even  when  the  lovers  huddled  together  for  shelter 
from  the  gloom  and  for  warmth  from  the  chill,  there  were 
other  terrors,  old  battles  with  one  another  to  fear  and  to 
wage  again. 

When  Daphne  was  with  Clay  she  was  afraid  of  him  and 
herself.  And  when  he  was  away  from  her,  she  was  afraid 
for  him  and  of  other  women.  She  knew  how  terrible  his 
longings  were,  and  she  wondered  if  they  might  not  drive 
him  elsewhere  for  their  quieting. 

She  had  heard  that  men  were  not  governed  by  the  same 
laws  of  fidelity  as  women,  and  she  was  visited  by  fantastic 
nightmares  of  the  hours  he  spent  out  of  her  watch  and 
ward.  That  boarding-house  where  he  lived — he  had 
spoken  of  the  strange  people  there,  the  queer  women — 

359 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

what  might  not  happen  there?  Woman-like,  she  trusted 
other  women  even  less  than  she  trusted  men. 

When  she  questioned  Clay  he  was  indignant  or  pre- 
tended to  be;  but  then  a  man  would  deny  in  any  case. 
The  more  brazen  his  guilt  the  more  brazen  his  denial 
would  be. 

Thus  Daphne's  love  tormented  her  and  itself  with  every 
engine  of  torture  that  jealousy  and  suspicion  and  doubt 
could  invent. 

Unable  to  find  any  answer  to  her  fantastic  riddles  or 
any  escape  from  them,  she  turned  morose  and  made  her 
lover  unhappier  than  he  was.  She  told  herself  that  she 
would  lose  him  by  her  very  fear  of  losing  him.  She  told 
him  that  he  must  not  come  to  see  her  so  often;  he  must 
seek  other  and  gayer  company.  She  thought  she  would 
make  herself  more  valuable  if  less  accessible.  She  tried 
to  find  diversions  for  herself  that  she  might  keep  her  soul 
fresh  and  refreshing.  But  diversions  cost  money,  and 
none  of  her  people  had  any. 

Those  were  black  days  for  all  America,  suffering  under 
the  backfire  from  the  sudden  war  and  from  the  long 
fatigue  of  hard  times.  There  were  weeks  of  dread  lest 
the  United  States  be  sucked  into  the  maelstrom  at  a  time 
when  it  was  least  prepared  in  money,  arms,  or  spirit. 
Never,  perhaps,  in  human  chronicle  have  so  many  people 
looked  with  such  bewildered  misery  on  so  many  people 
locked  in  such  multifarious  carnage. 

At  such  a  time,  as  in  an  epoch  of  plague,  there  came 
a  desperate  need  of  a  respite  from  woe ;  soldiers  skylarked 
in  trenches;  war  widows  danced  in  gay  colors;  festivals 
were  held  in  the  name  of  charity;  frivolities  and  vices 
were  resorted  to  that  good  souls  might  renew  themselves 
for  the  awful  work  before  them. 

It  was  in  such  a  mood  of  imperative  demand  for  cheer 
of  some  sort  that  Tom  Duane  swam  back  into  Daphne's 
gloomy  sky. 

360 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  had  come  home  after  a  morning  of  rebuffs. 
She  was  heartsore  and  footsore,  in  shabby  boots  that  she 
could  not  replace.  She  was  called  to  the  telephone,  and 
Duane's  voice  chanted  in  her  ear  with  a  tone  of  peculiarly 
comforting  melancholy. 

"That  you,  Miss  Kip?  This  is  me,  Mr.  Duane.  Poor 
Tom  Duane.  Poor  Tom's  a-cold.  I  came  back  to  town 
unexpectedly  early.  I  have  something  important  to  say 
to  you.  Will  you  take  a  little  ride  with  me  in  my  car?" 

"Why  not?"  she  said,  with  a  laugh.  She  was  glad  that 
he  could  not  see  the  tears  that  gushed  across  her  eyelids. 

"Three  cheers  for  you!  I'll  be  there  in  a  jiffy.  You 
couldn't  arrange  to  dine  with  me,  could  you?  Or  could 
you?" 

She  made  ready  to  say  "No,"  but  she  had  heard  Mrs. 
Chiwis  planning  a  New  England  boiled  dinner  that 
night.  She  thought  of  one  of  Duane's  compositions,  and 
her  very  soul  clamored  against  the  remembered  odor  of 
corned  beef  and  cabbage  and  carrots. 

Again  she  answered,  "Why  not?" 

Duane's  voice  rang  back :  "Tip-top!  You've  made  me 
happy  as  a  box  of  pups.  I'm  half-way  there  already." 


CHAPTER  L 

DAPHNE  prinked  and  preened  with  a  haste  and  a 
zest  she  had  not  known  for  a  week.  She  told  herself 
that  she  had  every  right  to  this  little  picnic.  Clay  was 
in  New  Jersey  hunting  for  a  job.  She  would  not  be  deny- 
ing him  any  of  her  society.  She  would  be  the  better  com- 
panion to  him  if  she  had  a  little  taste  of  cheerfulness. 
If  she  did  not  interpolate  some  bright  moment  in  her  life 
soon  she  would  go  mad  and  die.  There  were  arguments 
enough  to  smother  any  impulse  she  may  have  felt  to 
reproach  herself. 

When  Duane  came  up  to  the  door  he  greeted  her  with 
the  beaming  joyousness  of  a  rising  sun.  He  praised  her 
and  thanked  her  for  lending  him  her  time.  The  elevator 
that  took  their  bodies  down  took  her  spirits  up.  She 
noted  that  he  had  not  brought  his  big  car  with  his  chauf- 
feur. He  stowed  her  into  a  powerful  roadster  built  for  two. 
But  she  had  no  inclination  to  protest.  The  car  caught 
them  away  and  they  sped  through  Central  Park  with 
lyrical,  with  dithyrambic,  sweep. 

"The  trees! — how  wonderful  they  are!"  she  cried. 

They  had  been  wonderful  for  weeks,  but  she  had  thought 
them  dismal. 

"They're  nothing  to  what  they  are  in  Westchester," 
said  Duane.  "I  came  through  on  the  train  yesterday. 
The  hills  are — well,  they're — they'll  drive  you  crazy  with 
the  colors.  We're  going  to  have  a  look  at  them  and  dine 
up  there  somewhere." 

"Are  we?"  was  all  she  said. 

And  he  said,  "We  are." 

362 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

After  they  left  the  Park  and  re-entered  the  hard  streets 
she  found  the  courage  to  remind  him:  "But  you  said  you 
had  something  important  to  tell  me.  What  was  it?" 

He  would  not  tell  her  while  they  dodged  through  the 
heavy  traffic  and  out  of  the  long  city;  and  then  she  was  too 
busy  with  the  gorgeous  fabric  of  the  visible  world  to 
question  him  again. 

The  hills  were  a  giant's  garden,  each  tree  and  shrub 
aglow  in  one  enormous  flower.  Mighty  tulip-trees  dis- 
pread  and  released  broad  leaves  turning  to  amber,  while 
cedar  and  juniper  and  fir  enriched  the  russet  world  with 
their  persistent  green.  Fields  of  sumach-bushes  flaunted 
velvet  pompoms  of  ox-blood  hue,  and  barberry-bushes  were 
hung  with  rubies.  Birches  clustered  in  tremulous  throngs 
like  bathers  surprised.  But  the  maple-trees,  best  beloved 
of  autumn,  crowded  the  ridges  in  multitudes  as  at  a 
pageant,  belatedly  arrayed  in  sunset  crimsons  and  apple 
emeralds  and  hammered  gold. 

The  still  air  was  flecked  with  falling  leaves,  the  roads 
crackled  with  them,  and  the  hollows  were  pools  of  their 
color.  Daphne  exclaimed  aloud  upon  the  incessant 
glory.  Her  heart  was  full  of  gratitude  to  the  Lord  for 
making  His  lands  so  beautiful  and  her  lips  were  quick 
with  gratitude  to  Tom  Duane  for  bringing  her  out  to  see 
them.  Thus  encouraged,  he  explained  his  business  at 
last. 

"Miss  Kip,  you've  played  the  very  devil  with  me.  I 
thought  I  was  immune  to  the  lover  germ,  but — well,  I 
told  you  the  truth  about  going  abroad  to  shake  off  the — 
the  fever — the  Daphnitis  that  attacked  me.  But  I 
couldn't  get  you  out  of  my  mind  for  long,  or  out  of  my 
heart  at  all.  I'm  a  sick  man,  Miss  Kip,  a  lovesick  man." 

"Mr.  Duane,  you  mustn't —  I  can't  allow  you — 
really!" 

"Oh  yes,  you  can!"  he  said,  and  sent  the  car  ahead  with 
a  plunge.  "You're  going  to  listen  to  me  for  once.  You 
can't  help  yourself.  I'm  not  going  to  harm  you.  I  just 

363 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

want  you  to  help  me  a  little.  I  went  up  in  the  Berkshires 
and  tried  to  get  my  sanity  back,  but,  damn  it!  I  couldn't! 
I  couldn't  even  play  golf — or  cards — or  drink.  People 
drive  me  crazy.  They  do  nothing  but  talk  war,  and  brag 
about  their  sympathies  and  their  losses.  I've  had  good 
luck.  I  sold  the  market  short  and  pulled  down  a  big 
pile  of  money  before  the  Exchange  closed.  I've  been 
able  to  send  a  lot  of  cash  to  the  poor  beggars  over  there. 
But  I  can't  get  interested  in  anything  or  anybody  but 
you." 

"  Mr.  Duane,  please —  You  oughtn't  to —  I  beg  you. 
I  have  no  right — " 

"Oh,  I  know  you're  engaged  to  Clay  Wimburn.  He's 
a  nice  kid.  I'm  not  one-two-three  with  him.  I'm  not 
trying  to  cut  him  out — I  couldn't  if  I  would.  I  like  him. 
I'd  like  to  help  him,  and  your  brother,  too.  I  don't  mean 
to  be  impertinent,  either;  but — well,  the  main  thing  is, 
I  want  to  beg  you  to  let  me  see  you  once  in  a  while. 

"Some  of  my  friends  are  going  over  to  Europe  as  nurses. 
Muriel  Schuyler  has  chartered  a  steamer  and  loaded  it 
with  medicines  and  doctors  and  toys.  Poor  Mrs.  Meri- 
thew  is  opening  a  hospital  in  Paris.  But  you  don't  need 
to  go  abroad  and  nurse  wounded  Frenchmen.  You've 
got  a  patient  right  here.  I  won't  bother  you  much,  or 
annoy  you  with  my  odious  caresses.  I'll  keep  my  prom- 
ise. But  I  want  to  be  allowed  to  hang  round  you  at  a 
little  distance. 

"I  want  to  take  you  out  riding  and  dining  and  dancing 
and — you  can  take  Wimburn  along  if  you've  got  to,  but 
I  want  you  to  save  my  life  somehow.  And,  by  the  Lord 
Harry!  I  think  it  will  save  yours.  You  don't  look  well, 
my  dear — Miss  Kip.  It  breaks  my  heart  to  see  it.  No, 
I  don't  believe  you're  getting  as  much  fun  out  of  life  as 
you  ought  to.  There  isn't  much  fun  in  the  world  any 
more,  but  what  little's  left  is  very  precious,  and  I  want 
you  to  get  all  that's  going.  Won't  you  let  me  help  you 
go  after  it?  Won't  you?" 

364 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

They  swung  up  to  a  height  that  commanded  a  vast 
reach  of  the  Hudson.  Between  its  banks  it  seemed  to 
be  a  river  of  wine.  The  western  sky  was  like  a  forest  of 
autumn  leaves  with  the  last  sad  red  pitifully  beautiful, 
since  it  must  turn  so  soon  to  rust. 

In  a  spirit  of  haste  the  fleetly  spinning  wheels  mur- 
mured, "Why  not,  why  not,  why  not,  why-notwhynot- 
whynot?" 


CHAPTER  LI 

BEFORE  the  sunset  had  quite  relinquished  the  sky 
the  moon  was  over  the  horizon — the  harvest  moon, 
huge  and  close  and  of  a  meditative  mien.  It  paled  and 
dwindled  as  it  climbed,  but  its  power  seemed  to  grow. 

It  left  Daphne  more  alone  with  Duane,  a  little  afraid 
of  him  and  of  the  gloaming.  She  told  him  that  they 
must  have  gone  pretty  far  away  from  town,  and  it  might 
be  better  to  turn  back. 

He  consented  with  a  reassuring  grace,  but  laid  his 
course  away  from  the  river,  now  dim  and  blue,  into  the 
inland  hills.  They  emerged  above  the  chain  of  Croton 
lakes  and  ran  across  the  big  dam  and  wound  along  the 
shore,  crossing  iron  bridge  after  iron  bridge,  till  they 
came  to  a  little  roadside  inn  whose  lights  had  a  yellow 
warmth. 

"We're  stopping  here  for  dinner,  if  you  don't  mind," 
said  Duane. 

Daphne  was  a  trifle  ill  at  ease,  but  she  was  hungry, 
too,  and  the  adventure  was  exhilarating.  There  were  not 
many  people  at  the  tables,  and  they  were  of  an  adventur- 
ous cast  as  well. 

Daphne  went  to  bathe  her  dusty  face  and  arrange  her 
wind-blown  hair.  When  she  rejoined  Duane  a  small 
orchestra  was  playing,  and  they  were  hardly  seated  before 
two  professional  dancers  stepped  into  the  oasis  between 
the  tables  and  began  to  prance  and  posture.  Even  here, 
out  in  the  wilderness! 

When  Duane  had  given  his  order  he  asked  Daphne  if 
she  would  join  the  rest  of  the  diners  who  had  left  their 

366 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

chairs  to  fox-trot.     She  shook  her  head  and  he  did  not 
urge  her. 

But  by  the  time  their  dinner  was  served  and  eaten  the 
nagging,  interminable  music  had  played  away  nearly  all 
her  scruples. 

She  felt  an  overwhelming  need  of  rhythmic  expression. 
Her  feet  were  dancing  about  her  chair  in  spite  of  her.  It 
grew  conspicuous  not  to  dance,  here  where  every  one  else 
was  up  and  at  it  from  the  first  chord  to  the  last.  The 
very  tunes  were  satirical  of  dignity,  or  the  pretense  of  it. 
If  it  were  wrong  to  dance  here  it  was  wrong  to  be  here 
at  all.  Being  here,  it  was  stupid  to  lose  the  chance  to 
fling  off  melancholy.  It  was  selfish  to  deny  her  cavalier 
the  well-earned  reward  of  a  jig.  If  Clay  Wimburn  had 
been  with  them  she  would  have  danced  with  Duane; 
it  was  spiteful  sophistry  to  refuse  him  now. 

At  length,  when  Duane  looked  at  her  with  an  appealing 
smile,  she  smiled  back,  nodded,  and  rose.  He  leaped  to 
his  feet  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

Somehow,  it  was  not  mere  dancing  now.  He  had  told 
her  that  he  loved  her.  There  was  in  his  embrace  an 
eagerness  that  was  full  of  deference,  but  full  of  delight 
as  well.  After  all,  she  was  alone  with  him  in  a  company 
that  seemed  not  to  be  very  respectable,  and  was  growing 
less  so  every  hour. 

Her  feet  and  all  her  limbs  and  every  muscle  of  her 
reveled  in  the  gambol,  but  her  heart  and  mind  and  con- 
science were  troubling  her  till  she  stopped  short  at  last 
and  said: 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I — I'd  rather  not  dance  any  more — 
here." 

Duane  paused  in  a  moment's  chagrin.  Then  he  sighed: 
"All  right." 

They  retreated  to  their  table,  and  he  looked  at  her 
sadly,  and  she  sadly  at  him.  Then  he  seemed  to  like  her 
even  better  than  before,  and  he  said,  with  a  very  tender 
smile: 

367 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Want  to  go  home?" 

"If  you  don't  mind." 

When  they  came  out  upon  the  veranda  of  the  hotel 
the  lake  was  a  vast  charger  of  frosted  silver  among  the 
hills.  They  stood  admiring  it  for  a  moment  and  the 
music  from  the  hotel  seemed  to  come  from  another  world. 
He  helped  her  into  the  car  and  they  whisked  away 
southerly. 

He  returned  to  the  road  along  the  Hudson,  and  it  was 
so  beautiful  in  the  moonglow  that  it  seemed  a  pity  to 
hurry  through  the  wonderland  at  such  speed.  And  what 
was  she  going  back  to  that  she  should  be  in  such 
haste? 

She  hinted  as  much  to  Duane,  and  he  bettered  the 
suggestion.  Not  only  did  he  check  the  speed,  but  at  one 
wooded  cliffside  with  a  vista  of  peculiar  majesty  he 
wheeled  out  of  the  road  and  stopped  the  car,  shut  down 
the  chuttering  engine  and  turned  off  the  strenuous  lights. 

The  landscape  seemed  to  close  in  upon  them  more 
intimately,  with  a  kind  of  affection. 

For  a  long  while  neither  of  them  spoke.  It  was  enough 
to  gaze  at  the  Hudson,  seeming  to  move  through  the 
azure  universe  no  faster  than  a  shining  glacier. 

Duane  was  wondering  what  Daphne  was  thinking  of, 
or  if  she  were  thinking  at  all?  Was  she  not  merely  re- 
garding the  scene  as  animals  do?  as  a  gazelle  might,  or  a 
beautiful  hound,  or  perhaps  a  tree — that  slim,  naked  birch 
that  shook  its  misty  tresses  so  tenderly  over  their  very 
heads. 

Duane  himself  was  hardly  thinking.  He  was  less 
musing  on  the  poetry  of  the  view  than  serving  as  a  mere 
portion  of  it. 

They  sat  utterly  content  till  Duane  shook  off  the  bliss- 
ful stupor.  They  could  not  stay  here  thus  forever. 
They  could  not  stay  much  longer.  It  was  growing  cold 
and  late. 

He  did  not  dare  to  look  at  Daphne.  He  did  not  quite 

368 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

need  to.  He  could  imagine  her  pretty  head  and  the 
drowsy,  adorable  eyes,  the  lips  pursed  with  childish 
solemnity,  the  throat  stem  in  the  urn  contour  of  her 
shoulders,  the  vaselike  curves  of  her  young  torso.  He 
imagined  these  from  memory,  for  now  they  were  swaddled 
in  a  thick  motor-coat.  But  without  turning  his  head  he 
could  see  her  little  hands  clasped  idly  at  her  knees, 
the  little  gloves  turned  back  at  the  wrist.  He  thought 
that  he  would  like  to  take  them  in  his — he  would  like 
to  take  all  of  her  in  his  arms,  into  his  heart,  into  his 
keeping. 

But  there  was  such  content  in  just  sitting  there  by  her 
that  he  could  not  venture  a  gesture  or  a  touch  that  might 
provoke  a  conflict.  He  knew  women  well  enough  to 
know  that  even  if  she  were  impatient  for  his  caresses, 
and  indignant  at  their  delay,  she  would  have  to  protest 
against  them  at  first.  She  would  have  to  struggle  a  little. 
All  her  inheritance  from  nature  would  compel  that. 
And  he  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  even  the  most 
delicate  conflict. 

And  yet  he  dreaded  the  thought  of  letting  her  go. 
He  wanted  her  for  his  own  forever — at  least  for  as  much 
of  forever  as  he  could  foresee. 

Yet  he  did  not  want  to  marry  her.  He  did  not  admire 
marriage  in  its  results  as  he  saw  them  in  other  people. 
Like  many  another,  he  cherished  wicked  ideals  because 
the  every-day  virtues  worked  out  so  imperfectly,  so  un- 
beautifully. 

He  sat  thinking — desiring  her  warmly,  yet  coldly 
planning  how  to  make  her  his  without  making  himself 
too  much  hers.  He  was  not  altogether  ruthless.  He 
wanted  to  protect  her  as  well  as  himself  from  those 
phases  of  himself  that  he  had  experienced  before  when 
he  grew  weary  of  people. 

Daphne  was  musing  almost  as  vaguely.  On  the  river 
a  yacht  at  anchor  poised  like  a  swan  asleep.  She  would 
like  to  own  a  yacht.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  river 

369 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

along  the  road  she  could  see  motor-cars  like  inquisitive 
crickets  with  gleaming  eyes  and  feelers  of  light.  She 
would  like  to  own  a  motor  or  two. 

She  was  a  little  cold,  but  she  lingered  for  the  beauty  of 
the  country  and  for  the  privilege  of  leisure.  To-morrow 
there  would  be  beauty  and  luxury  here,  but  she  would  be 
seeking  for  work  on  the  harsh  streets.  To-morrow  night 
Clay  would  call  with  his  despairs,  his  complaints;  there 
would  be  hours  more  of  that  tantalism  of  thwarted  love 
so  agonizing  that  it  resembled  hate  and  brutality.  And 
the  next  day  more  hunt  for  work,  more  toil,  more  shabbi- 
ness,  and  no  escape. 

Why  could  she  not  have  loved  a  rich  man  just  as  well? 
Why  could  she  not  devote  her  life  to  these  beautiful, 
ennobling,  glorifying  experiences?  If  she  were  the  wife 
of  as  rich  a  man  as  this  man  at  her  side,  how  quickly  she 
could  help  her  father  and  Bayard  and  the  poor  old  lady 
who  lost  her  place  with  the  publishers  and  the  wretched 
victims  of  the  massacre  in  Europe  and  so  many  people — 
yes,  and  even  Clay,  poor,  dear,  hopeless,  helpless  Clay 
Wimburn,  to  whom  she  had  brought  nothing  but  expense 
of  money  and  heartache  and  torture. 

She  was  sure  that  Mr.  Duane  would  help  them  if  she 
asked  him  to.  Was  it  not  her  duty  to  ask  him,  to  make 
him,  even  at  the  cost  perhaps  of  accepting  his  love? 
If  she  loved  him  she  would  not  need  to  hunt  for  work; 
she  would  be  no  burden  on  such  wealth  as  his. 

Suddenly  but  quietly  upon  this  current  of  her  thoughts 
a  thought  of  Duane's  was  launched  like  a  skiff  congenial 
to  the  tide.  He  spoke  almost  as  softly  as  a  thought, 
at  first  with  a  quaint  shock  such  as  a  boat  makes,  launched. 

"How  often  do  you  go  to  church?"  he  said,  whimsically. 

"Why — never,  I'm  afraid,"  she  gasped  in  surprise. 

"When  did  you  go  last?" 

"When  mamma  was  here.  We  went  once  to  Saint 
Bartholomew's." 

"Why?" 

370 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"To  see  the  clothes,  I  guess." 

"You're  honest,  anyway,  but  not  very  religious, 
are  you?" 

"Why,  yes —  Well,  no.  I  mean  to  be,  but —  Oh,  I 
don't  know." 

"You  were  planning  to  be  married  in  church?" 

"Such  funny  questions!    Yes,  of  course." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  it  wouldn't  be  nice  not  to." 

"You  don't  believe  in  divorce,  then?" 

"Oh  yes — yes,  indeed — if  people  don't  get  along  to- 
gether. I  think  it's  wicked  for  people  to  live  together  if 
they  don't  love  each  other." 

"It's  love,  then,  that  makes  marriage  sacred?" 

"Yes.     Yes,  indeed!    Of  course!" 

"Love,  rather  than  religion,  eh?" 

"Love  is  a  religion — kind  of." 

"If  people  loved  each  other  a  lot  and  lived  together, 
without  going  to  church,  would  that  be  all  right?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't  say  that.     Oh  no!" 

"But  if  love  is  a  kind  of  religion — ' 

"Yes,  I  know— but—    Well,  it  wouldn't  be  right." 

"It  needs  a  preacher,  then?" 

"Yes,  of  course;  and  yet — " 

"  Is  it  all  right  for  two  people  who  are  not  Christians  to 
live  together  according  to  their  creeds?" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  the  people  who  lived  before  there  were  any 
Christians — or  people  who  never  heard  of  Christianity — 
was  it  all  right  for  them  to  marry?" 

"Of  course." 

"It's  not  any  one  formula,  then,  that  makes  marriage 
all  right?" 

"Of  course  not,  it's  the — the — " 

"The  love?" 

"  I  think  so.     It's  hard  to  explain." 

"Everything  is,  isn't  it?" 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Terribly." 

There  was  more  silence.  He  took  a  cigar  from  his 
pocket,  held  it  before  her  for  permission.  She  said, 
"Please."  He  struck  a  match.  She  glanced  at  his  face 
in  the  little  lime-light  of  the  match.  It  was  very  hand- 
some. A  pearl  of  drowsy  luster  gleamed  in  the  soft  folds 
of  his  tie.  The  hands  sheltering  the  match  were  splendid 
hands. 

His  lips  drawn  back  from  his  white  teeth  as  they 
clenched  the  cigar  were  red  and  full,  and  as  he  puffed 
they  were  pursed  with  a  kissing  sound  and  motion. 

She  was  startled  to  find  herself  observing  these  things. 
He  blew  out  the  match,  and  the  vivid  portrait  of  him  was 
erased  and  lost  in  the  shadow. 

She  trembled  with  a  sudden  emotion.  Why  was  she 
here  alone  with  this  stranger,  and  talking  of  marriage  in 
this  cold  way? 

She  watched  the  cigar-fire  glow  and  fade  and  the  little 
turbulent  smoke-veils  float  into  the  air  and  die.  One  of 
them  formed  a  wreath,  a  strange,  frail,  writhing  circlet 
of  blue  filaments.  It  drifted  past  her  and  she  put  her 
finger  into  it — her  ring-finger  by  some  womanly  instinct. 

"Now  you're  married  to  me,"  said  Duane. 

There  was  a  sudden  movement  of  his  hands  as  if  to 
seize  upon  her.  She  recoiled  a  little;  his  hands  did  not 
pursue  her.  They  went  back  to  the  steering-wheel  and 
clung  to  it  fiercely  as  he  groaned: 

"Daphne,  I  can't  keep  my  promise!  I  can't!  You've 
no  right  to  ask  me  to." 

"Mr.  Duane!"  she  protested,  and  felt  that  the  protest 
was  feeble  and  ill-suited  to  the  fact  that  she  was  brazen 
enough  to  be  there  with  him  at  that  hour. 

He  set  his  left  elbow  on  the  seat  back  of  her  and  laid 
his  cheek  on  the  heel  of  his  hand  and  stared  at  her.  She 
turned  from  his  eyes,  but  he  gazed  at  her  cheek,  and  she 
could  feel  the  blood  stirring  there  in  a  blush. 

"If  you  loved  me,  would  you  marry  me?"  he  said. 
372 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"I — I  love —    I'm  going  to  marry — somebody  else." 

"When?" 

"Some  day." 

"If  you're  not  happy  with  him,  will  you  leave  him?" 

"Oh,  but  I'll  be  happy  with  him." 

"So  many  people  have  said  that!  You've  seen  how 
seldom  it  worked.  If  you  ceased  to  love  him,  or  he  you, 
would  you  leave  him?" 

"I/  is  a  large  order.     Maybe." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  wiser  if  two  people  who  thought  they 
loved  could  live  together  for  a  while  before  they  married?" 

She  felt  her  muscles  set  as  if  she  would  rise  and  run 
away  from  such  words.  "Mr.  Duane!  It  would  be  hor- 
rible!" 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  would.     You  know  it  would." 

"No,  I  don't  know  it.     I  don't  even  believe  it." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  would  have  two  people 
live  together  without  marriage — ugh!" 

"Why  ugh?" 

"Because." 

"Because  is  not  a  very  convincing  argument." 

"It's  a  convinced  argument." 

"Why  are  you  so  convinced?" 

"I  don't  think  it's  nice  even  to  be  talking  of  such 
things.  Besides,  it's  growing  late." 

"It's  not  so  late  as  it  would  be  if  you  married  a  man 
and  found  that  your  marriage  was  a  ghastly  mistake. 
Then  you  would  say  ugh!  again,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Hadn't  we  better  start  back?" 

"Please  don't  leave  me  just  yet.  This  is  very  solemn 
to  me.  I've  been  studying  you  a  long  time,  trying  to 
get  you  out  of  my  mind,  and  only  getting  you  deeper  in 
my  heart.  I  love  you." 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"I  know  it." 

"Then  you  oughtn't  to  tell  me." 
373 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Not  tell  a  woman  you  love  her?  Not  try  to  save  her 
from  wrecking  her  life  and  my  own?" 

"How  wrecking  my — her  life?" 

"I  believe  that  if  you  marry  Clay  Wimburn  you'll  be 
unhappy." 

"How  dare  you!" 

"Don't  say  that." 

"I  mean  it!    How  dare  you  talk  so  about  him?" 

"Because  I  love  you,  and  he's  not  the  man  for  you." 

"Why  not?" 

"He's  poor." 

"'What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Everything.  He  can't  give  you  a  home.  He  can't 
buy  you  clothes.  He  can't  support  you." 

"That's  not  his  fault,  just  now — with  the  hard  times 
and  the  war.  And,  anyway,  I  believe  it's  a  woman's 
business  to  support  herself." 

"You're  one  of  these  new  women,  then?" 

"Yes!" 

"You  don't  believe  in  the  old  style  of  marriage?" 

"Yes— no." 

"You  really  don't  believe  in  marriage  at  all." 

"Oh,  but  I  do." 

"Not  what  the  Church  calls  marriage.  You  don't 
believe  in  church,  even." 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"No,  you  don't;  for  anybody  that  really  believes  in 
the  Church  has  got  to  go  often — go  all  the  time." 

"That's  not  true." 

"Then  nothing  is.  But  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with 
you.  I  want  you  to  love  me." 

"Please  let's  go  home." 

"To  my  home?" 

That  insolence  was  too  appalling  to  answer,  or  even  to 
gasp  at,  or  protest  against.  It  stunned  her.  He  took 
advantage  of  her  daze  to  explain,  hurriedly: 

"You're  not  going  to  be  one  of  those  silly,  old-fashioned, 
374 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

idiot  girls  that  a  man  can't  talk  to  earnestly  and  frankly, 
are  you  now?  Of  course  you're  not.  You're  not  one  of 
those  poor  things  whose  virtue  consists  in  being  insulted 
every  time  any  one  appeals  to  their  intelligence,  are  you? 
No,  you're  a  fine,  brave  soul,  and  you  want  to  know  the 
truth  about  truth,  and  so  do  I. 

"  I'm  a  decent  enough  fellow  at  heart.  I  want  to  do  the 
right  thing  and  live  squarely  as  well  as  the  next  fellow. 
I've  got  a  sense  of  honor,  too,  of  a  sort,  and  I  take  life 
pretty  seriously. 

"I've  been  studying  life  hard,  especially  the  marriage 
business.  Everywhere  I  look  I  see  that  it  doesn't  work. 
Young  lovers  and  old  lovers  rush  off  to  church  or  a  justice 
of  the  peace  and  swear  they'll  love  each  other  forever, 
and  then  they  have  a  honeymoon  and  settle  down  into  a 
life  of  boredom,  or  of  quarrels  in  private  and  hypocrisy 
in  public. 

"The  old  idea  was  that  the  man  was  master  and  the 
woman's  place  was  the  home,  and  the  ring  was  her  badge 
of  slavery.  But  women  won't  stand  that  any  longer 
even  in  name.  And  men  don't  care  for  slaves.  Women 
want  to  be  equal  and  they  ought  to  be — at  least  equal. 
They  want  to  work  and  they've  got  a  right  to. 

"I  tell  you,  the  world  is  all  turned  topsy-turvy  the  last 
few  years.  The  old  rules  don't  rule.  They  never  did, 
but  people  pretended  to  believe  in  'em.  Now  we're  not 
so  afraid  of  the  truth  in  science  or  history  or  religion  or 
anything.  We  want  to  know  the  truth  and  live  by  it. 

"What  they  used  to  call  the  decent  thing  we  call  in- 
decent. You  said  yourself  that  marriage  without  love 
was  horrible.  And  it  is;  it's  all  quarrels  and  nagging  and 
deceit.  If  people  are  faithful  to  each  other  morally  they 
seem  to  quarrel  all  the  more.  Long  ago  I  vowed  I'd  never 
marry,  and  I  don't  intend  to.  I  don't  want  to  marry 
you.  But  I  want  your  life." 

"Mr.  Duane!    Really,  this  is  outrageous." 

"No,  it  isn't!  Hush  and  listen,  honey — Miss  Kip — 
375 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne — whatever  you'll  let  me  call  you.  I  told  you 
I  was  stark,  starving,  crazy  mad  about  you.  When  I 
think  of  you  looking  for  work,  living  in  that  awful  spare 
room  of  those  God-awful  Chivvises — when  I  think  of  you 
going  from  place  to  place  at  the  mercy  of  such  men  as 
you're  sure  to  meet — when  I  think  of  you  waiting  for 
poor  Wimburn  to  get  out  of  the  poorhouse,  I  want  to 
grab  you  in  my  arms  and  run  away  with  you.  It's  my 
one  religion,  my  one  job  to  save  you  from  what  you're 
undergoing  now  and  from  the  worse  things  ahead  of  you. 
It  breaks  my  heart  to  see  you  in  distress  and  anxiety; 
for  I  want  you  to  have  everything  beautiful  and  cheerful 
in  the  world.  And  I  can  get  it  all  for  you.  Let  me! 
Let  me  love  you  and  try  to  make  you  happy,  won't  you?" 

He  had  crowded  nearer  and  he  held  her  fast  against 
the  door  of  the  car. 

There  was  an  honesty  about  his  devotion  that  quelled 
her  contempt;  there  was  a  homage  that  quickened  her 
pride;  there  was  an  appeal  to  her  intelligence  that  called 
for  an  intelligent  answer.  She  had  listened  to  his  heresy 
till  it  was  too  late  to  strike  him. 

Yet  he  was  asking  more  than  Gerst  had  asked.  She 
was  amazed  at  herself  for  listening,  but  she  could  not 
decide  what  to  say  or  do. 

While  she  fluttered  from  indecision  to  indecision,  he 
flung  the  cigar  from  his  right  hand  and  groped  for  hers; 
his  left  hand  came  down  from  his  cheek  and  his  arm  en- 
circled her.  She  felt  herself  taken  captive,  her  two 
hands  in  his,  her  shoulders  urged  into  the  hollow  of  his 
arms,  his  eyes  burning  on  her  cheek  and  his  lips  moving 
thither  under  the  compulsion  of  some  great  power. 

This  was  the  second  time  he  had  broken  his  promise, 
but  now  she  had  no  instinct  of  flight,  or  anger;  she  could 
not  take  insult  from  his  worship.  Yet  she  felt  that  she 
must  emerge  above  it  before  it  smothered  her.  She  rose 
to  her  feet  gently. 

His  right  hand  clung  to  hers;  his  left  slid  down  to  her 

376 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

waist.  He  drew  her  toward  him,  staring  up  beseechingly. 
He  laid  his  cheek  against  her  left  side  like  a  child,  the  big 
man  pleading  to  the  little  woman  for  mercy. 

She  felt  sorry  for  him  and  for  herself.  She  regretted 
that  cruelty  was  her  one  unmistakable  duty.  She  had 
no  right  to  be  kind,  and  charity  would  be  a  sin.  She 
wrung  her  hands  free  from  his  with  slow  persuasion  and 
shook  her  head  pityingly. 

He  accepted  the  decision  with  a  nod,  but  before  she 
could  escape  from  his  arm  she  felt  that  he  pressed  his 
lips  against  her  just  above  her  heart.  It  was  as  if  he  had 
softly  driven  a  nail  into  it.  Tears  flamed  to  her  eyelids 
and  fell  on  his  hands  as  he  carried  them  to  his  bent  brow. 
He  crossed  them  on  the  wheel  and  hid  his  face  in  them, 
groaning: 

"Daphne!     Daphne!" 

She  was  more  afraid  of  him  now  than  ever.  All  the 
splendors  he  could  promise  her  were  nothing  to  that  proffer 
of  his  longing. 

While  she  waited  in  a  battle  of  impulses,  he  regained 
self-control  with  self -con  tempt,  in  a  general  clench  of 
resolution.  "I  apologize,"  he  mumbled.  "I'm  a  fool  to 
think  that  you  could  love  me." 

And  that  was  the  next  strongest  plea  after  his  grief. 
But  he  did  not  know  what  progress  he  had  made  toward 
her  pitiful  heart.  He  switched  on  the  lights.  Into  the 
soft  gloom  they  sent  two  grotesque  prongs.  He  turned 
on  the  power  and  the  engine  throbbed  like  a  heart.  Then 
the  car  went  forward  with  the  force  of  an  impatient 
gesture. 


CHAPTER  LII 

'"THEY  seemed  to  leave  romance  and  its  sweet  sorrows 
1  where  they  had  found  them,  and  they  returned  to  a 
world  of  fact  and  speed,  tunneling  the  mystery  with 
augers  of  searching  radiance.  Now  and  then  other  cars 
came  up,  mysteriously  sheltered  by  their  blinding  head- 
lights. 

There  was  a  sense  of  morning-after  reality.  Daphne 
told  herself  that  she  must  not  go  out  with  Duane  again, 
now  that  he  had  said  that  he  loved  her.  It  was  a  curious 
paradox  that  she  must  not  trust  herself  to  him  because 
he  cared  greatly  for  her. 

Duane  did  not  speak  till  miles  and  miles  of  black  road 
had  run  backward  beneath  their  wheels.  Then  he 
grumbled,  "What  a  fool  I  was  to  dream  of  such  a  thing!" 

More  miles  went  under  before  her  curiosity  led  her  to 
say,  faintly,  "What  were  you  dreaming  of?" 

He  laughed,  and  did  not  answer  for  another  while. 
Then  he  laughed  again. 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know?" 

"I  think  so." 

"Well,  you  couldn't  hate  me  any  more  than  you  do,  so 
I'll  tell  you.  I  said  to  myself  that  I  would  never  be  the 
slave  of  any  woman. 

"I  thought  I  was  safe,  and  I  was  till  you  came  along. 
I've  loved  lots  of  women,  and  if  you  won't  have  me  I'll 
love  a  lot  more.  But  I'm  never  going  to  marry  anybody 
if  I  can  help  it.  It  '11  take  a  shot-gun  to  get  me  to  church. 
Your  pretty  face  and  ways  caught  me  first,  of  course,  but 

378 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

then  I  saw  how  serious  a  little  chick  you  were — trying  to 
get  a  job  because  you  didn't  want  to  be  a  burden  on  a  man ! 
That  hit  me  hard.  It  was  something  new. 

"Maybe  it's  only  the  latest  style  in  the  way  women  are 
wearing  their  brains — and  it  may  not  last  any  longer 
than  the  hobble-skirt,  but  it's  mighty  becoming  to  you. 
When  I  got  your  idea  I  thought  it  was  a  wonder.  I 
envied  Wimburn.  I  said,  'He'll  get  the  one  wife  in  the 
world.' 

"It's  not  that  I  am  stingy  about  my  money,  not  that  I 
wouldn't  take  the  greatest  pleasure  in  pauperizing  myself 
for  the  woman  I  loved,  but  that  I  want  her  to  take  my 
gifts  as  gifts,  not  as  a  tax  or  a  salary.  Some  of  these  women 
think  they  are  doing  a  man  a  tremendous  favor  by  letting 
him  support  them.  That  doesn't  get  me  a  little  bit.  I 
believe  a  man  does  a  woman  just  as  much  honor  as  she 
does  him,  and  sacrifices  a  blamed  sight  more.  He  gives 
up  his  freedom,  and  if  she  gives  up  hers  she's  only  giving 
up  something  she  doesn't  know  how  to  use  anyway." 

Daphne  had  rarely  found  a  man  who  would  talk  to  her 
with  Duane's  frankness,  and  if  there  is  anything  that 
interests  a  woman  more  than  another  it  is  to  hear  woman- 
kind analyzed,  even  satirized.  She  was  eager  for  more 
vinegar. 

"You  won't  be  shocked  and  angry?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"You  don't  know  how  pleasant  it  is  to  talk  life  and 
love  to  a  woman  who  doesn't  rear  up  and  feel  insulted  at 
everything.  At  first  you  gave  me  a  couple  of  How- 
dare-you's,  but  they  don't  count.  And  if  you  do  hate  me 
a  little  more,  why,  so  much  the  better.  When  I  thought 
you  had  broken  with  Wimburn  I  said  to  myself,  'She's 
the  one  girl  in  the  world  for  me.  I'm  going  to  ask  her 
to  marry  me.'  But  I  was  afraid  to,  for  I  was  afraid  of 
marriage.  And  then — I —  Well,  I'd  better  not —  Yes, 
I  will.  I  said, '  She  believes  that  men  and  women  are  equal 
and  have  equal  rights,  and  she's  going  to  get  out  and 

379 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

hustle  for  herself,  like  a  little  man.  Maybe  she's  eman- 
cipated herself  from  the  Sunday-school  library,  and 
perhaps  she  would  be  willing  to  live  life  intelligently, 
rather  than  religiously.  Maybe  she  could  learn  to  love 
me  well  enough  to  go  into  a  partnership  of  hearts.'  That's 
what  I  said  to  myself.  You  mustn't  think  it's  because 
I  don't  want  to  cleave  to  one  woman;  it's  because  I  do. 
But  I  hate  handcuffs.  If  you  and  I  arranged  it  so  that 
either  one  could  be  free  just  by  walking  out,  then  we 
would  never  want  to  be  free.  Everything  you  did  for 
me  would  be  a  gift — a  proof  of  love — not  a  tiresome 
obligation.  Everything  I  did  for  you  would  be  a  lover's 
token  of  love — not  a  husband's  income  tax.  Do  you  see? 
And  now  you  know  what  I  was  dreaming  of.  What  do 
you  think  of  it?" 

The  answer  to  his  long  oration  was  complete  silence. 
Daphne's  blood  was  running  cold  at  hearing  such  atheism 
preached  at  her  by  this  man  she  had  liked  so  well.  She 
was  frightened  by  his  audacity;  so  frozen  that  she  had 
not  warmth  enough  left  to  be  tempted  toward  either 
anger  or  sympathy. 

Duane  waited  for  his  answer,  and,  not  getting  it,  laughed 
harshly:  "Well,  that's  that.  The  next  number  on  our 
program  will  be  a  ballad  entitled  'I  Never  Dream  but  I 
Bump  My  Head.'  Go  on!  Marry  Clay  Wimburn  on 
nothing  a  year  and  live  miserably  ever  after." 

She  said  nothing  to  this,  either.  Duane  was  in  a 
wretched  state  of  bafflement.  He  put  the  car  to  its  paces, 
and  it  ripped  through  space  at  fifty  miles  an  hour.  Daphne 
had  a  new  terror  added  to  the  load  on  her  nerves. 

The  car  went  bounding  up  a  steep  incline  toward  the 
swerve  of  a  headland  cut  in  rigid  silhouette  by  the  far- 
reaching  search-light  of  a  car  approaching  from  the  other 
direction.  Duane  kept  well  to  the  outside  of  the  road, 
but  just  as  he  met  the  other  motor  and  winced  in  the 
dazzle  of  its  lamps,  a  third  car  trying  to  pass  it  on  the 

380 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

curve  hurtled  into  the  narrow  space  with  a  blaze  like 
lightning  searing  the  eyes.  There  was  a  yelling  and  hoot- 
ing of  horns  and  a  sense  of  disaster. 

Daphne  bent  her  head  and  prayed  for  life,  but  without 
faith.  Duane,  half  blinded,  swung  his  front  wheels  off 
the  road  and  grazed  a  wall.  The  rear  wheels  were  not 
quick  enough.  The  other  car  smote  them,  crumpling  the 
mudguard  and  slicing  off  the  rear  lamp. 

Daphne  was  thrown  this  way  and  that,  and  it  seemed 
that  her  spine  must  have  snapped  in  a  dozen  places. 
When  she  opened  her  eyes  again  the  car  was  standing 
still.  Duane  was  yelling  frightful  curses  over  his  shoulder 
and  trying  to  make  out  the  number  of  the  assassin's 
car  before  it  flashed  around  the  curve.  He  did  not  suc- 
ceed, and  he  was  in  too  great  a  fury  to  think  of  apologizing 
to  Daphne  for  his  language.  His  wrath  was  succeeded 
by  an  equally  fierce  anxiety  for  her  welfare.  He  turned 
to  her  with  terrified  questions,  and  his  hands  visited  her 
face  and  her  arms  and  shoulders.  He  held  her  hands  fast 
and  peered  into  her  eyes  while  she  promised  him  that 
she  was  not  dead. 

Then  he  returned  to  his  wrath  at  the  criminal  reckless- 
ness of  the  other  driver.  His  wrath  had  the  usual  motor 
consistency.  No  one  was  wilder  than  he  or  had  narrower 
escapes,  and  no  one  had  more  hatred  for  other  men's  reck- 
lessness. 

The  car  that  had  bested  his  did  not  return,  but  the 
other  did,  offering  help  from  a  safe  distance  till  its  identity 
was  established.  In  the  light  of  its  lamp  Duane  got 
down  and  examined  his  own  car.  Besides  the  damages 
in  the  rear,  it  had  sustained  a  complete  fracture  of  the 
front  axle,  a  twisted  fender,  and  a  shattered  headlight. 

The  driver  of  the  other  car  came  up  and  joined  the 
coroner's  inquest.  He  stared  at  Duane,  and  cried  in  the 
tone  of  an  English  aristocrat,  "Gobbless  my  soul,  ain't 
you  Tom  Duane?" 

Duane,  blinking  in  the  light,  peered  at  him  and  said; 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Yop!    I  can't  see  you,  but  the  voice  would  be  Weth- 
erell's." 

"Right-o;   it's  me." 

"It  can't  be.     You're  singing  in  opera  in  Brussels." 

"Opera?  That's  very  likely,  with  this  war  tearing  the 
whole  bl —  Oh,  pardon  me,  you're  not  alone.  Nobody 
hurt,  I  hope  and  pray." 

"No,  but  we're  pretty  far  from  home  and  country." 

"I  see!  Humm!  Pity  I  couldn't  get  the  number  of 
the  swine  that  hit  you.  I  rather  fancy  I'll  have  to  give 
you  a  lift — what?  I  was  out  on  a  tangaroo-hunt,  but 
that  will  wait — if  you  don't  mind  trusting  yourself  to 
bad  company." 

Duane  lowered  his  voice  anxiously.     "Is  it  very  bad?" 

Wetherell  put  the  mute  on  his  voice.  "As  good  as 
yours,  I'll  wager.  But  let's  not  go  into  family  history. 
Come  along  and  we'll  take  you  to  the  next  neutral  port. 
That  would  be—" 

"Yonkers." 

"Oh  yes.  I  fancy  those  were  the  Yonkers  we  came 
through  a  few  miles  back.  Well,  come  along." 

Duane  was  embarrassed,  but  he  could  do  nothing  ex- 
cept take  Wetherell  to  his  car  and  introduce  him  to 
Daphne.  "Miss  Kip,"  he  said,  "I've  got  to  present  Mr. 
Wetherell.  He's  used  to  the  lime-light — the  only  living 
English  tenor.  He  wants  us  to  ride  with  him  as  far  as 
Yonkers.  We'll  get  another  car  there." 

Wetherell  came  close  and  said:  "Did  he  say  Mrs. 
Kip?  I  can't  see  you,  but  I  hope  you  are  the  fascinating 
Mrs.  Kip  I  met  at  Newport.  Have  you  forgotten  me 
so  soon?" 

"I  am  Miss  Kip,"  said  Daphne. 

"Oh,  so  sorry!  I  don't  mean  that,  either.  But  my 
Mrs.  Kip  was  a  siren — Leila  was  her  first  name.  I  called 
her  De-leila,  you  see.  And  she  called  me  Samson.  She 
was  a — " 

"She  is  my  brother's  wife,"  said  Daphne. 

382 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Oh,  you  don't  tell  me!"  Wetherell  gulped,  and  his 
abrupt  silence  was  full  of  startling  implications  that 
alarmed  Daphne,  angered  Duane,  and  threw  Wetherell 
into  confusion. 

Duane  helped  Daphne  to  alight  from  the  derelict  and 
transferred  her  to  the  other  car,  where  Wetherell  intro- 
duced them  to  a  mass  of  shadow  whose  name,  "Mrs. 
Bettany,"  meant  nothing  to  Daphne  and  everything  to 
Duane. 

He  hesitated  about  allowing  Daphne  to  ride  in  the  same 
car  with  Mrs.  Tom  Johns  Bettany,  though  he  had  been 
within  the  last  half-hour  urging  Daphne  to  throw  away 
her  own  reputation  more  heedlessly  than  Mrs.  T.  J.  B. 
had  ever  scattered  hers.  But  Daphne  was  already  seated, 
and  Wetherell  was  at  the  wheel,  so  Duane  accepted  the 
situation. 

Wetherell,  with  the  tact  for  which  Englishmen  are  so 
famous  abroad,  proceeded  to  try  to  redeem  Leila's  reputa- 
tion from  his  own  report.  He  made  it  worse  when  he 
compelled  Daphne  to  tell  him  her  address. 

Duane  and  Daphne  were  glad  enough  to  reach  a  garage 
in  Yonkers  and  escape  from  Wetherell's  further  graces. 

Duane  arranged  to  have  a  wrecking-crew  sent  out  to 
his  roadster,  and  chartered  a  touring-car  and  a  chauffeur 
for  the  trip  into  New  York. 

He  sat  back  with  Daphne  and  murmured  prayers  for 
forgiveness  because  of  the  dangers  he  had  carried  her  into 
and  for  the  things  he  had  said.  He  had  meant  them  as 
the  highest  tribute,  and  if  they  sounded  otherwise  to  her 
it  was  because  his  words  were  wild;  but  he  assured  her 
that  his  heart  was  hers  and  he  couldn't  imagine  how  he 
was  to  live  without  her. 

Daphne's  nerves  had  been  overworked.  She  had  been 
rushed  from  adventure  to  adventure  of  soul  and  body. 
She  had  been  invited  to  enter  a  career  of  gorgeous  sin, 
and  she  had  been  swept  along  the  edge  of  a  fearful  disaster. 

She  had  told  Mrs.  Chiwis  that  it  would  be  lucky  if  she 

383 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

were  dead  and  all  her  problems  solved,  and  she  had  come 
near  to  finding  out  what  happens  after  death. 

Her  soul  was  tired  of  experiences,  and  she  was  home- 
sick for  the  quietude  of  her  own  room.  She  was  glad 
that  Clay  Wimburn  was  too  poor  to  take  her  motoring 
or  glittering.  She  was  glad  that  he  loved  her  and  trusted 
her  and  she  vowed  that  she  would  never  play  truant  again 
in  his  absence. 

At  length  they  rounded  Columbus  Circle.  It  was  after 
midnight,  but  crowds  were  reading  the  bulletins  of  war. 

Daphne  was  not  interested  even  in  the  battle  of  the 
Marne  and  the  salvation  of  Paris.  The  car  rolled  on  to 
the  apartment-house,  and  there  at  the  door  stood  Clay 
Wimburn.  Her  heart  leaped  with  welcome,  then  sagged 
with  dismay. 


CHAPTER  LIII 

SOMETHING  in  Clay's  attitude  told  Daphne  that 
O  he  had  been  there  for  hours.  She  could  not  throw 
off  the  air  of  guilt  that  his  suspicion  surrounded  her  with. 

Duane  had  not  seen  Clay.  He  stepped  down  and 
handed  Daphne  out  with  all  his  affection  and  an  ex- 
travagant courtesy.  Daphne  saw  across  his  bent  shoul- 
ders that  Clay  Wimburn  was  advancing  in  a  blaze  of 
wrath,  his  fists  clenched. 

She  stepped  quickly  past  Duane  and  caught  Clay  by  the 
sleeves.  There  was  a  moment  of  fierce  struggle.  His 
quivering  arms  almost  tore  out  her  finger-nails,  but  the 
chauffeur  could  hardly  have  guessed  that  anything  was 
wrong.  Duane  turned  and,  seeing  Clay,  drew  close  to 
discourage  or  to  accept  battle,  or  shelter  Daphne  with  lies 
or  muscles  or  in  any  necessary  way. 

Not  many  people  were  near,  but  a  crowd  is  gathered  in- 
stantly from  nowhere  in  New  York,  and  a  crowd  is  a 
dreadful  thing.  Centuries  of  primeval  passions  were 
battling  in  these  three  people,  and  a  few  years  of  etiquette 
were  holding  them  down. 

Daphne  was  whispering,  "Clay,  wait,  wait!  Let  me 
explain!" 

Clay  was. huskily  snarling:  "It  was  beastly  of  you. 
I'll  kiU  him  for  this!" 

Duane  was  mumbling,  politely,  "Be  a  cad  if  you  must, 
but  don't  raise  a  brawl  on  the  street." 

They  moved  up  to  the  doorway  and  conferred  in 
whispers  with  a  casualness  of  manner  that  belied  their 
frenzy.  All  three  spoke  at  once.  Clay  accused  Daphne 

'3  385 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

of  playing  double  with  him  and  he  promised  to  "fix" 
Duane.  Duane  accused  Clay  of  being  unworthy  of  the 
name  of  man,  and  promised  him  the  beating  of  his  life. 
Daphne  was  distraught  between  them. 

She  implored  Duane  to  leave  her,  and  he  obeyed  at 
length  with  reluctance.  When  he  had  entered  the  car 
and  moved  away  he  seemed  to  take  with  him  Daphne's 
last  hope  of  escape  from  poverty  or  evil  cheer. 

Clay  denounced  Duane  and  her  with  equal  bitterness. 
He  confessed  that  he  had  tramped  in  vain  the  parts  of 
New  York  City  that  lie  in  the  state  of  New  Jersey.  He 
was  so  fagged  with  his  many  rebuffs  and  with  his  long 
vigil,  and  so  convinced  of  Daphne's  treachery,  that  he 
would  not  listen  to  her  explanations.  And  in  fact  they 
sounded  so  unconvincing  to  herself  that  she  gave  up 
trying. 

The  lovers  nagged  each  other  to  desperation.  At 
length  Daphne  ordered  Clay  never  to  come  near  her 
again.  He  assured  her  that  he  never  would,  and  advised 
her  to  sell  herself  to  Tom  Duane  and  get  a  good  price. 
Then  he  staggered  away  on  weary  feet,  and  she  went 
into  the  corridor  to  where  the  elevator-man  slumbered 
in  ignorance  of  the  three-cornered  war  that  had  been 
fought  on  his  door-step. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  met  Daphne  at  the  door.  Her  recent 
affection  had  turned  again  to  scorn,  and  she  glowered  at 
Daphne,  who  crept  to  her  room  in  hopeless  acceptance 
of  the  role  of  adventuress. 

Tired  as  she  was,  she  could  not  sleep.  The  clangor  of 
the  morning  called  her  to  the  window.  A  gray  day 
broke  on  a  weary  town.  The  problem  of  debt  and  food 
and  new  clothes  dawned  again.  Everything  was  gray 
before  her.  The  only  haven  was  Duane's  offer  of  love 
and  homage  and  luxury.  In  her  jaded  eyes  the  ideals 
of  loyalty  to  a  fiance  who  distrusted  her,  of  submission 
to  a  landlady  who  despised  her,  of  virtue  in  a  world  that 

386 


/CENTURIES  of  primeval  passions  were  battling  in 
\^*  these  three  people,  and  a  few  years  of  etiquette  were 
holding  them  down. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

refused  her  opportunity  to  earn  her  way  honestly — these 
duties  took  on  a  look  of  stupid  romance  and  moonshine. 

Wisdom  seemed  to  lie  in  feathering  her  own  nest,  in 
acquiring  diamonds  and  purple,  in  yielding  her  weary 
body  to  the  arms  of  a  lover  who  would  take  her  tired 
hands  in  his  and  press  his  lips  against  her  heart  and 
sweep  her  through  dances  and  scenes  of  every  rapture. 

Wisdom  whispered  her  to  take  Duane  at  his  word  and 
try  the  great  adventure.  How  could  it  bring  her  to 
worse  confusion  than  she  found  about  her  now?  And 
then  the  morning  mail  arrived  and  brought  her  a  large 
envelope  addressed  in  a  strange  hand.  She  opened  it  and 
took  from  it  a  sheaf  of  photographs. 

Her  father's  image  a  dozen  times  repeated  lay  before 
her.  The  untouched  proofs  omitted  never  a  line,  never 
a  wrinkle.  The  camera,  like  a  remembering  mirror,  had 
seen  and  held  each  least  trace  of  him,  each  silvered  strand 
of  hair,  the  little  crow's-feet  of  laughter  tracking  around 
the  eyes,  the  gleam  of  tears  upon  the  lids,  the  furrows 
of  suffering  about  the  mouth;  the  collar  too  low  and  too 
big,  the  careless  knot  in  the  old  tie,  the  pin  askew;  the 
whole  dear  sloven  honesty  of  him. 

One  of  the  pictures  looked  straight  at  her.  She  recalled 
that  once  she  had  stood  back  of  the  photographer,  and  her 
father  had  caught  her  eye  and  smiled  just  as  the  bulb 
was  pressed. 

She  had  made  him  smile  like  that.  What  would  his  ex- 
pression be  when  he  learned  that  she  had  "listened  to  rea- 
son," ceased  to  be  his  daughter,  and  become  Tom  Duane's — 

She  shuddered  back  from  the  word  and  the  thought. 
She  forgot  both  in  the  joy  of  reunion  with  her  father. 
All  the  philosophies  and  wisdoms  and  luxuries  were  an- 
swered by  the  logic  of  that  smile. 

She  lifted  his  pictured  lips  to  hers  with  filial  eagerness 
and  her  tears  pattered  ruinously  on  the  proof.  She 
was  satisfied  to  be  what  the  jeweler  in  Cleveland  had 
called  her  to  Clay  Wimburn — "old  Wes  Kip's  girl." 

389 


CHAPTER  LIV 

MISERY  may  love  company,  yet  take  precious  little 
joy  from  the  neighborhood;  for  two  poverties  do 
not  make  a  luxury;  no,  nor  a  hundred.  Zero  multiplied 
by  infinity,  indeed,  would  be  a  little  more  zero  than 
before  if  it  could. 

In  the  winter  of  1914-15  all  the  evil  spirits  seemed  to 
be  combining  infinitely  to  pound  all  the  good  forces  back 
into  nothingness.  Nations  of  the  highest  ideals  were 
rendered  maniac  with  onsets  of  fury  which  they  them- 
selves abhorred  but  could  not  resist.  The  entire  planet 
wore  a  woebegone  countenance. 

In  the  gigantic  total  of  humanity's  problems,  those  of 
little  Daphne  Kip  were  ephemerally  tiny;  but  they  were 
important  to  her  and  therefore  to  her  history.  She  was 
fighting  out  a  war  of  nations  within  her  own  microcosm. 

All  her  souls  had  arrayed  themselves  and  joined  in 
me'le'e.  The  needs  of  happiness  and  of  money  and  of 
security,  the  longing  for  adventure  and  experiment,  fought 
for  Duane  and  tried  to  carry  her  over  to  the  alliance 
with  him.  Her  love  for  her  pauperish  lover,  Clay,  her 
sense  of  honor,  and  the  instinct  for  law  and  custom  and 
respectability  fought  against  Duane.  Besides,  she  had 
a  wholesome  instinctive  suspicion  of  pleasure  gained 
without  toil. 

Then  her  father's  photograph  appeared  and  made  her 
realize  that  more  people  were  involved  than  just  herself 
and  her  two  lovers.  For,  after  all,  every  triangle  is  really 
a  polyhedron  of  numberless  facets. 

Wesley  Kip's  smile  ended  the  battle  in  his  daughter's 

390 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

heart  and  put  to  rout  the  anti-social  forces  of  Duane. 
She  ranged  the  proofs  along  the  top  of  her  bureau  and 
stood  off  admiring  them  and  deciding  which  to  select  for 
finishing. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  Wetherell  and  his  messages 
to  Leila.  She  felt  so  renewedly  virtuous  herself  that  it 
seemed  her  duty  to  go  down  and  rebuke  Leila  for  her 
apparent  philandering  at  Newport.  She  was  also  curious 
to  see  how  guiltily  Leila  would  receive  the  news  that 
Wetherell  had  asked  for  her. 

But  she  found  Bayard  at  home  for  luncheon,  and  she 
was  neither  mad  nor  mean  enough  to  confuse  Leila  before 
him.  And  this  was  rather  for  his  sake  than  Leila's. 

Leila  was  just  informing  Bayard  that  the  butcher  had 
delivered  the  morning's  order  no  farther  than  the  freight- 
elevator,  and  instructed  his  boy  to  send  the  meat  up  only 
after  the  money  came  down. 

Bayard  had  no  money  and  the  chagrin  of  his  situation 
was  bitter.  He  snarled  at  Leila:  "Tell  the  cub  to  take 
the  meat  back  and  eat  it  himself.  Then  I'll  go  over  and 
butcher  the  butcher." 

Leila  dismissed  the  boy  with  a  faint-hearted  show  of 
indignation.  Then  she  came  back  and  said,  "And  now 
we  have  no  meat  to  eat." 

Bayard  was  reduced  to  philosophy,  the  last  resort 
of  the  desperate:  "Well,  the  vegetarians  say  we  ought 
never  to  eat  meat,  anyway.  And  the  Lord  knows  we're 
feeding  as  well  as  the  European  monarchs.  The  morning 
paper  says  that  the  Kaiser  is  trying  to  show  his  people 
how  little  food  he  can  get  along  with,  and  King  George 
of  England  is  dispensing  with  most  of  the  ceremony  in 
the  dining-room.  I  suppose  Queen  Mary  waits  on  the 
table  and  washes  her  own  dishes.  I  suppose  she  has  to 
shine  her  own  crown. 

"We're  poor,  but,  my  Lord!  we're  in  grand  company. 
Look  at  this  cartoon  of  Cesare's  in  the  Sun — Father 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Knickerbocker  turning  his  pockets  inside  out  and  not  a 
penny  in  them.  New  York  City  has  to  borrow  money  on 
short-time  notes  at  high  interest  to  pay  its  own  current 
bills. 

"Next  summer  there'll  be  no  free  baths,  no  concerts,  no 
improvements,  no  anything.  Uncle  Sam  is  poorer  still, 
because  he  owes  more.  That's  because  the  whole  town, 
the  whole  country,  the  whole  world,  is  run  on  the  same 
fool  principles  that  I've  been  running  my  life  on  since  I 
got  married." 

"Oh,  it's  all  my  fault!"  Leila  broke  in.  "The  whole 
war  is  my  fault,  I  suppose!" 

"Nothing  is  your  fault,  honey,"  said  Bayard,  benig- 
nantly.  "It's  mine  and  the  male  world's.  We're  all 
living  beyond  our  income,  spending  to-day  what  we  expect 
to  get  to-morrow,  spending  to-morrow  what  we  expect  to 
get  next  week.  We  gamble  on  our  luck  and  our  health; 
and  the  smallest  mishap  spills  the  beans  all  over  the  place. 

"Look  at  Europe.  All  the  countries  over  there  were 
stumbling  along  under  such  debt  that  they  wondered  how 
they  could  meet  the  interest  on  the  next  pay-day.  And 
now  they  are  mortgaging  their  great-grandsons'  property 
to  pay  for  shooting  their  sons. 

"It's  the  old  Thirteenth  Commandment  that  we've  all 
been  smashing  to  flinders.  And,  my  God !  what  a  punish- 
ment we're  all  getting!  And  it's  only  beginning." 

Leila  had  no  interest  in  generalities.  When  they  grew 
more  than  so  big,  she  could  not  see  them  at  all.  She 
ended  Bayard's  oration  with  a  familiar  untruth. 

"It's  always  darkest  before  the  dawn.  Let's  eat  what 
we've  got." 

They  sat  down  to  a  pitiful  meal — meatless,  maidless, 
mirthless — hardly  more  than  the  raw  turnips  and  cold 
water  of  Colonel  Sellers.  Leila  fetched  what  victual  there 
was. 

"  May  I  help?"  Daphne  urged. 

But  Leila  shook  her  head.  "I'll  let  you  wash  the 

392 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

dishes,  though,  for  my  hands  are  ruined.  Just  look  at 
them!" 

She  held  them  out,  and  the  white  slendernesses  were 
chafed  and  red.  She  had  not  wept  over  the  European 
agonies,  but  tears  of  pity  for  her  pretty  hands  came  out 
on  the  sills  of  her  eyes  and  she  turned  away.  Poverty 
is  never  more  hateful  than  when  it  gnaws  at  beauty. 
Leila  broke  down,  whimpering: 

"I  can't  stand  everything:  no  servant,  no  money,  no 
theaters,  no  friends,  no  food,  no  fun." 

Bayard  cowered  under  the  childish  pathos  of  this. 
He  answered,  somberly:  "They're  not  having  much  fun 
in  Belgium,  either,  or  in  the  trenches  in  France  or  Ger- 
many, or  anywhere.  The  poor  in  New  York  and  all  over 
the  world  are  worse  off  than  we  are." 

Leila  did  not  want  sententiousness.  She  flared  up. 
"That  doesn't  cheer  me  any — to  tell  me  about  other 
people's  miseries.  It  doesn't  feed  me  to  know  that  other 
people  are  hungry.  I  don't  get  any  warmer  from  thinking 
of  those  poor  soldiers  knee-deep  in  the  ice-water.  I  think 
of  them  all  the  time  till  I'm  going  crazy.  I  dream  of 
them  nights.  I  want  to  forget  them  for  a  while.  I  want 
to  laugh  once  more  before  I  forget  how." 

"I  could  use  a  smile  or  two  myself,"  said  Bayard.  "I 
guess  I'll  go  down  to  the  club.  Maybe  somebody  will 
stake  me  to  a  funny  story." 

"I  haven't  got  any  club,"  Leila  groaned. 

"Bring  us  home  a  funny  story,  anyway,"  Daphne 
called  out. 

"The  kind  he  gets  there,"  said  Leila,  "he'd  better 
leave  there." 

Bayard  shrugged  into  his  overcoat  and  left  without 
kissing  either  his  wife  or  his  sister  good-by. 

Leila  went  to  the  hall  door  to  call  him  back.  "What 
about  some  theater  tickets  for  to-night  or  for  a  matine'e 
this  afternoon?" 

393 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Theater  tickets?"  Bayard  gasped.  "When  I  can't 
buy  a  meal-ticket!" 

"Well,  I  can  do  without  bread,  but  I've  got  to  have  a 
little  cake  now  and  then,  and  if  you  don't  take  me  some- 
where I'll  go  with  somebody  else." 

"Oh,  it's  like  that,  is  it?"  Bayard  growled.  And  now 
he  said  what  he  had  merely  thought  on  his  first  breakfast 
after  they  came  back  from  their  honeymoon.  "I  didn't 
know  that  when  I  married  you  I  was  supposed  to  be 
booking  myself  as  a  continuous  vaudeville  entertainer. 
Suppose  you  entertain  me  a  little  with  something  besides 
complaints  for  once." 

Leila  thought  of  the  many  raptures  she  had  entertained 
him  with,  including  the  jewels  she  had  given  him  to 
pawn,  and  she  was  about  to  speak.  But  she  was  wise 
enough  to  know  that  they  would  rankle  deeper  left  un- 
disturbed. So  she  gulped  hard  and  said  nothing;  and 
Bayard  flung  away. 

Daphne  and  Leila  went  out  to  the  kitchen,  set  the 
dishes  in  the  pan,  and  the  pan  under  the  faucet.  Leila 
turned  on  the  hot  water.  Daphne  pushed  her  away. 
She  did  not  resist,  but  took  up  a  towel  and  began  to  dry 
the  plates.  Daphne  was  glad  to  be  at  work. 

"There's  one  good  thing  about  a  small  meal,"  she 
chirped,  "it  makes  less  dishes  to  wash."  Then,  with  as 
much  trepidation  as  if  she  had  been  the  accused  instead  of 
the  accuser,  she  faltered:  "Oh,  say,  Leila,  do  you  remember 
a  man  named  Wetherell?" 

Leila  dropped  a  plate.  She  said  that  it  was  hot.  But 
other  plates  had  been  hot. 

"Wetherell?  Wetherell?"  she  pondered,  aloud,  with  an 
unconvincing  uncertainty.  "I  believe  I  do  remember 
meeting  somebody  of  that  name.  English,  wasn't  he?" 

"Very." 

"Oh  yes.     He  was  at  Newport,  I  think.     Why?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  I  met  him  last  night,  and  he  thought 
I  was  you." 

394 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"How  could  he?"  Leila  gasped.  "We  don't  look  the 
least  alike." 

"I  was  in  the  dark." 

' '  In  the  dark !    Good  heavens !    Where  ? ' ' 

Already  Leila  had  gained  the  weather-gauge.  Daphne 
had  to  confess  her  outing  with  Duane,  the  crash  of  the 
collision,  and  the  return  to  Yonkers  in  Wetherell's  car. 
Leila  took  advantage  of  the  situation  to  interpolate: 

"Good  heavens!  How  could  you?  You  of  all  people! 
And  with  Tom  Duane!  What  would  Clay  think  of  it?" 

Daphne  had  next  to  confess  that  she  already  knew  what 
Clay  thought  of  it.  She  told  how  he  had  met  them  on 
their  return  and  tried  to  attack  Duane,  and  what  rage 
he  had  visited  on  herself. 

She  had  not  meant  to  tell  all  this;  and  now  that  it 
was  out,  she  knew  that  she  had  no  right  to  reproach  Leila 
for  having  known  Wetherell  in  Newport.  She  had  no 
right  even  to  suspect  that  Leila  had  overstepped  any  of 
the  bounds  of  propriety.  She  herself  had  been  wrongly 
accused  by  Clay  on  account  of  far  more  compromising 
circumstances  than  she  could  allege  against  Leila.  She 
knew  how  innocent  she  had  been.  And  still  she  was 
not  convinced  of  Leila's  innocence.  She  was  merely 
silenced. 

Leila's  interest  in  Wetherell  seemed  to  revive  on  recol- 
lection, and  she  contrasted  the  vivacity  of  her  weeks  at 
Newport  in  Wetherell's  company  with  the  gloom  of  her 
life  at  home. 

Daphne  listened  to  Leila's  wails  as  long  as  she  could 
endure  them.  Then  she  went  back  to  her  own  room. 

The  westering  sun  was  pouring  in  at  her  window  and 
it  rejoiced  her.  She  fell  back  with  a  cry  of  despair.  The 
proofs  of  her  father's  photographs,  left  on  her  bureau, 
had  been  preyed  upon  by  the  light.  They  had  curled  and 
darkened.  The  face  that  had  looked  at  her  and  smiled 
with  devoted  trustfulness  was  nothing  but  a  red-brown 

395 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

blur.     Even  her  father  seemed  to  have  deserted  her,  gone 
backward  into  the  dark  like  Hamlet's  father. 

She  felt  a  superstitous  dread,  a  foreboding.  She 
needed  her  father's  smile.  After  all,  she  was  only  a  young 
girl,  alone  in  a  big  city,  overwhelmed  with  hard  and  cruel 
times. 

She  resolved  that  she  would  order  the  photographs 
finished  in  permanent  form.  But  that  meant  the  paying 
of  the  photographer's  bill,  and  the  sum  was  beyond  her 
reach. 

Her  heart  turned  in  its  loneliness  toward  Clay.  She 
blamed  herself  now  for  furnishing  his  jealousy  with  an 
excuse.  She  felt  sorry  for  him  and  visioned  his  forlorn 
moods.  His  very  wrath  was  a  proof  of  his  love;  and  its 
violence,  of  its  fervor. 

She  went  so  far  as  to  telephone  his  boarding-house. 
She  learned  that  he  had  moved  away,  and  a  stupid  foreign 
maid  could  not  repeat  his  new  address  intelligibly.  Daphne 
was  about  to  call  up  his  college  club.  But  she  remembered 
his  telling  her  that  he  was  an  exile  from  clubland,  too — 
posted  for  non-payment  of  the  dues  and  his  house  account. 

She  was  in  a  distress  of  fear  that  Clay  had  been  turned 
out  of  doors  penniless.  So  great  were  her  distress  and  her 
remorse,  indeed,  that  when  Duane  called  up  and  asked  if 
he  might  take  her  riding  she  refused  with  a  curtness  that 
startled  herself  and  frightened  him  from  the  telephone. 

Immediately  she  regretted  her  discourtesy,  for  she  re- 
membered that  Duane  had  hinted  at  his  willingness  to 
help  Clay.  He  was  capable  even  of  that  generosity!  She 
wondered  if  Clay  were  capable  of  accepting  it.  The 
niceties  of  jealousy  struck  her  as  rather  imbecile  in  the 
face  of  poverty.  Feelings  of  delicacy  were  well  named — 
they  belonged  only  to  people  who  could  afford  delicacies. 

To  bribe  Duane 's  charity  might  be  her  duty  for  the 
sake  of  others;  but  if  those  others  would  not  accept  the 
fruits  of  her  sacrifice,  what  then?  And  just  how  much 
would  Duane  charge  her  for  his  charity? 

396 


CHAPTER  LV 

THE  next  day  her  fears  of  Wetherell  and  of  Leila  were 
rekindled.     She  went  down  to  ask  Bayard  to  help 
her  trace  Clay.     Bayard  was  out  and  Leila  was  on  the 
point  of  leaving.     She  was  dressed  in  her  killingest  frock 
and  hat  and  generally  accoutered  for  conquest. 

"Aren't  we  grand!"  Daphne  cried.  "You  look  like  a 
million  dollars.  Where  you  off  to  ?" 

"Going  for  a  little  spin." 

"Who  with?" 

Leila  hesitated  a  moment,  then  answered,  with  a 
challenging  defiance:  "With  Mr.  Wetherell.  Any  ob- 
jection?" 

Daphne  accepted  the  challenge:  " I  haven't,  but  Bayard 
might  have.  Have  you  told  him?" 

"  Did  you  tell  Clay  you  were  going  with  Tom  Duane?" 

"  No,  but  I  wish  I  had  told  him — or  hadn't  gone.  And, 
anyhow,  you're  married  to  Bayard." 

"You  are — or  were — engaged  to  Clay."  Leila  was 
growing  a  trifle  vicious  in  her  thrusts,  but  she  was  even 
more  embarrassing,  polite:  "Not  that  I  blame  you  for 
going.  You'd  be  a  fool  not  to.  Clay  is  about  as  much 
use  as  Bayard  when  it  comes  to  remembering  that  a  girl 
has  a  right  to  a  little  amusement  now  and  then." 

This  was  a  kind  of  argument  by  jiu-jitsu.  Daphne  was 
floored  by  Leila's  agreement.  Leila  said,  to  reassure  her: 

"  I  hope  you  don't  suspect  me  of  any  wicked  intentions. 
Mr.  Wetherell  has  never  forgotten  that  I'm  married,  and 
neither  have  I.  And  I  shall  be  chaperoned.  He  is  taking 
another  woman  along." 

397 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"I  wonder  if  it's  that  Mrs.  Bettany?"  Daphne  said. 

Leila  was  on  the  alert.  "What  Mrs.  Bettany?  Not 
Mrs.  T.  J.  B.?  What  do  you  know  about  her?" 

"She  was  with  Mr.  Wetherell  the  other  night." 

"She  was?  Oh,  Lord,  then  he's  lost!  If  that  harpy 
has  her  claws  on  him,  he's  gone." 

"What  do  you  care?" 

"I  haven't  so  many  cavaliers  that  I  can  afford  to  lose 
one.  And  Mrs.  T.  J.  B.'s  reputation  isn't  such  that  it 
will  help  me  any  to  be  seen  with  her." 

"Hadn't  you  better  stay  at  home,  then?"  Daphne  sug- 
gested, eagerly. 

"Home?  Do  you  mean  this  hole  when  you  say 
home?  Not  if  Mrs.  T.  J.  B.  were  the  devil's  first 
divorced  wife  would  I  miss  this  day.  Good-by!"  She 
opened  the  door,  then  closed  it  again  to  say:  "Still, 
you  needn't  mention  my  little  picnic  to  Bayard.  It's 
all  I  can  do  to  live  with  him  now.  I'll  be  back  before 
he  is.  Promise?" 

Daphne  promised  under  duress  and  Leila  went.  Daphne 
disapproved  and  felt  afraid;  but  when  Bayard  came  in 
unexpectedly  early  and  asked  for  Leila,  Daphne  lied  in- 
evitably and  said  she  did  not  know  where  she  was. 

Finally  Leila  came  back,  her  hair  a  little  wind-blown, 
her  cheeks  abloom  with  new  roses,  her  eyes  sparkling 
dangerously  bright. 

" Where' ve  you  been  all  this  while?"  said  Bayard. 

"Window- wishing,"  said  Leila. 

Daphne  loathed  the  duplicity,  but  held  her  whist. 
Still,  Bayard  was  her  brother,  her  own  blood  and  kin, 
and  after  several  days  of  Leila's  excursions,  increasingly 
prolonged,  Daphne  felt  that  her  complicated  duty  re- 
quired her  to  tell  Bayard  the  truth.  One  afternoon  she 
achieved  that  most  odious  and  dubious  duty  of  loyalty, 
telling  on  one  member  of  a  couple  to  the  other. 

She  tried  to  be  casual  about  it,  but  Bayard  caught  fire 
at  once.  He  was  already  in  a  state  of  tindery  irritability, 

398 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

and  Daphne's  efforts  to  reassure  him  as  to  Leila's  inno- 
cence of  any  guile  only  angered  him  the  more. 

He  kept  leaning  out  of  the  window  and  staring  down 
into  the  street.  Finally,  espying  Leila  in  Wetherell's  car 
when  it  approached  the  apartment-house,  he  dashed  to 
the  elevator  and  met  the  two  at  the  curb  as  Clay  had  met 
Duane  and  Daphne.  Curbstones  are  famous  crisis- 
places,  little  Rubicons.  People  who  step  out  of  carriages 
or  into  them  step  into  so  many  situations. 

Bayard  was  quite  as  furious  as  Clay  had  been,  but 
held  himself  in  better  control.  When  Leila  got  out  she 
was  startled  to  see  him  standing  at  her  elbow.  There  was 
nothing  for  her  to  do  but  make  the  introductions. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  dear!"  she  fluttered.  "I  want  you  to 
meet  Mr.  Wetherell.  Mr.  Wetherell,  my  husband." 

"Ah,  really!"  Wetherell  exclaimed,  trying  to  conceal 
his  uneasiness.  "This  is  a  bit  of  luck!  I've  heard  so 
much  about  you!  Your  wife  does  nothing  but  sing  your 
praises." 

"Won't  you  come  up?"  said  Bayard,  ominously. 

"Er,  thanks — no,  not  to-day.  I'm  a  trifle  late  to  an— 
er — appointment. ' ' 

"Then  I'll  have  a  word  with  you  here,"  said  Bayard. 
"Run  along,  Leila;  I'll  join  you  in  a  minute." 

He  said  it  pleasantly,  but  Leila  was  terrified.  The 
spectacle  of  rival  bucks  locking  horns  in  her  dispute  is 
not  altogether  enjoyable  to  a  civilized  doe.  Leila  went 
into  the  vestibule  and  watched  through  the  glass  door, 
expecting  a  combat.  She  saw  a  colloquy  in  dumb  show, 
but  there  was  nothing  alarming  in  the  actions.  She 
could  not  hear  Bayard  saying: 

"Mr.  Wetherell,  I'd  thank  you  to  pay  your  attentions 
elsewhere." 

"What's  that?"  Wetherell  gasped  at  the  abrupt  attack. 

"Your  attentions  to  Mrs.  Kip  are  very  distasteful  to 
me." 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  hope  you  don't  imagine  for  one 
399 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

moment  that —  Why,  your  wife  is  the  finest  little  girl  in 
the  world!" 

"That's  for  me  to  say,  not  you!" 

"My  word!  this  is  amazing!" 

"It  is,  indeed.  It  will  be  more  than  that  if  you  come 
around  again." 

"Oh,  I  say,  I  can't  have  this,  you  know." 

"Oh  yes,  you  can,  and  you'll  have  worse  if  you're  not 
careful." 

"By  Jove!  I —  Look  here,  what's  the  meaning  of  such 
astonishing  behavior?" 

"You're  an  Englishman,  aren't  you?" 

"I  am." 

"Had  you  heard  that  your  country  was  at  war?" 

"I  had." 

"Well,  a  big  strapping  fellow  like  you  ought  to  be  over 
there  fighting  for  his  country  instead  of  looking  for  trouble 
here." 

Wetherell's  panic  at  the  domestic  situation  was  for- 
gotten in  the  attack  on  his  patriotism.  He  drew  himself 
up  with  an  unconsciously  military  automatism  and  said, 
"I  fancy  I'm  doing  my  country  as  much  service  here  as  I 
could  be  over  there." 

"More,  perhaps,"  Bayard  sneered,  with  contemptuous 
irony.  "But  that's  your  business,  not  mine.  Mrs.  Kip 
is  my  business  and  I  don't  intend  to  have  her  subjected  to 
your — your  attentions.  I'm  trying  to  be  neutral,  but 
by —  Well,  I've  warned  you.  Good  day!" 

He  was  quivering  with  battle  fervor  and  he  could 
hardly  remember  that  he  was  on  the  public  sidewalk.  He 
turned  away  and  left  Wetherell  muttering,  "Of  all  the 
blighters  I  ever — " 

Bayard  joined  Leila  in  the  vestibule  and  they  went  up 
in  the  elevator  together.  She  waited  till  they  were  in 
their  own  apartment  before  she  demanded  an  account 
?>f  the  conversation. 

He  told  her  in  a  rage  and  she  flew  into  another.  She 

400 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

divided  her  wrath  between  Bayard  and  Daphne.  There 
was  enough  for  both.  Daphne  tried  to  escape,  but, 
being  cornered,  proceeded  to  fight  back,  whereupon 
Leila  denounced  her  to  Bayard  and  told  of  her  ride  with 
Duane.  In  Leila's  version  Daphne  had  no  reputation 
left ;  though  she  said  again  that  she  did  not  blame  Daphne 
for  seeking  a  little  escape  from  the  monotony  of  her 
poverty,  she  blamed  her  only  for  being  a  cat  and  a  scandal- 
bearer,  one  who  was  more  careful  about  minding  other 
people's  reputations  than  protecting  her  own. 

It  was  a  right  good  fight  and  getting  well  beyond  the 
bounds  of  discretion  when  the  telephone  announced  that 
Clay  Wimburn  was  calling. 

Nobody  imaginable  would  have  been  welcome  in  that 
battle-field,  but  Clay  seemed  peculiarly  ill-timed.  The 
only  thing  those  three  agreed  on  was  that  they  could  not 
see  him  then.  Bayard  went  to  the  telephone  and  called 
down: 

"  Did  you  tell  Mr.  Wimburn  we  were  in?" 

"Er,  no  sir;  I  told  him  I'd  see  was  you." 

"Then  tell  him  we're  out." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Bayard  had  an  uncanny  feeling  that  Clay  was  hearing  all 
tfiis,  and  in  a  moment  the  hall-man  called  up  again  to  say: 

"Mr.  Wimburn  says  he's  naturally  got  to  see  you." 

"We're  out,  I  told  you." 

Evidently  the  telephone  was  taken  from  the  hall-man's 
hand,  for  Clay's  voice  roared  in  Bayard's  ear: 

"I  hear  you,  you  old  villain.  I  know  you're  in,  and 
I'm  coming  up.  It's  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  I'm  on 
my  way  up  now." 

Bayard  turned  to  the  two  women  with  the  news. 
Daphne  gasped,  "Great  heavens!  What  disaster  is  it 
now?"  and  thought  of  everything  horrible  at  once,  her 
favorite  terror  being  a  womanly  intuition  that  Clay  had 
killed  Duane  and  fled  to  Bayard's  apartments  for  refuge 
from  the  law. 

401 


CHAPTER  LVI 

IT  seemed  decenter  that  Leila  and  Daphne  should  dis- 
appear, since  Bayard  had  said  that  they  were  all  out. 
The  women  retreated  to  Leila's  room  as  a  good  coign  of 
audition. 

When  Bayard  opened  the  door  Clay  swept  in  like  a 
March  gale.  He  flung  himself  at  Bayard  and  clenched  his 
elbows  in  his  hands  and  roared: 

"Bayard!  Bayard!  It's  come!  We're  rich!  We're 
made!  Eureka!  Uneeda!  Munitions!  Wow!" 

Bayard  stared  at  him  and  sighed  patiently:  "What 
have  you  been  taking?  Laughing-gas?" 

"I've  been  taking  contracts." 

"Contracts?    There  ain't  no  such  animals!" 

"Oh  yes,  there  are.  And  I've  nailed  one,  a  hippopot- 
amus! A  regular  giasticutus !" 

"If  you  will  go  to  the  bath-room  and  hold  your 
head  under  the  cold  faucet  you'll  get  great  relief  and  so 
will  I." 

"I'll  give  you  relief.  Listen!  The  other  night  while 
I  was  trailing  a  job  in  darkest  New  Jersey  I  ran  across 
a  little  clue,  and  a  little  man  who  told  me  a  little  secret. 
The  Germans  have  been  getting  ready  for  this  war  for 
years,  piling  up  guns  and  ammunition  for  Der  Tag.  The 
other  countries  were  caught  only  half  ready.  They  have 
stopped  the  Germans  on  the  Marne,  but  they've  been 
using  their  shells  at  such  a  rate  that  the  famine  is  near. 
Their  only  hope  is  to  buy  supplies  of  us.  They're  going 
to  dump  enough  contracts  on  this  country  to  furnish 
about  a  million  dollars  to  every  citizen.  They're  afraid 

402 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

of  exciting  attention  and  stirring  up  opposition  from  the 
peace-at-any-price  party  and  the  hyphenated  Americans, 
so  their  agents  are  pussy-footing  round  to  distribute 
contracts  quietly. 

"The  Bethlehem  Steel  Company  has  gathered  in  a  big 
lot  of  them,  and  I  had  a  tip  that  the  stock  was  going  to 
boom;  so  are  a  lot  of  other  stocks.  I'd  sell  my  right  arm 
for  a  little  cash.  But  there's  no  market  for  detached 
right  arms,  so  I  used  mine  to  sign  up  a  few  little  contracts 
for  placing  contracts,  and  I've  plucked  them  and  brought 
them  to  you."  He  broke  into  song:  "Zillah,  darling  one, 
I  plucked  them  and  brang  them  to  thou!"  He  broke 
into  dance  and  whirled  Bayard  off  his  feet. 

Bayard  tried  to  be  patient.  "That  is  all  very  interest- 
ing, Clay,  but  take  your  delusions  down  to  Bellevue,  where 
they'll  put  you  in  the  right  cell.  What  can  you  or  I  do 
with  ammunition  contracts?" 

"Accept  'em,  you  blamed  ijit!  Open  up  your  old  shut- 
up  factory  and  get  busy." 

"We  have  no  machinery  for  making  ammunition." 

"Get  it  then,  or  adapt  your  machinery!  There  are  a 
thousand  things  to  do,  gun  parts  to  make,  breech-blocks, 
shell-cases,  cartridges,  triggers,  magazine-clips,  aero- 
plane engines,  motors,  motor-boats,  spades,  knives,  bay- 
onets, shrapnel — thousands  of  things.  And  they  need 
millions  of  each  article,  for  there  are  millions  of  men  in 
the  field  using  up  what  they've  got  so  fast  that  it's  only 
a  matter  of  weeks  before  they'll  be  desperate." 

Bayard  began  to  see  the  scheme — also  the  obstacles. 
"But  it  takes  money  to  make  these  things.  Where  will 
we  get  the  cash  for  the  pay-rolls  and  the  raw  materials?" 

"From  the  banks!  The  banks  are  bursting  open  with 
idle  money;  it's  rotting  on  their  hands!" 

"What  security  can  we  give?" 

"The  contracts,  you  nut!  Contracts  with  the  govern- 
ments of  England  and  France  and  Russia  back  of  them. 
And  Italy  is  getting  ready  to  jump  in;  every  market  in 

403 


the  country  is  going  to  feel  the  demand.  Horses  are  being 
bought  up  by  the  herd,  and  shoes  by  the  million  pairs,  and 
grain  by  the  shipload — everything !  Millions  of  American 
women  have  been  knitting  mufflers  for  nothing;  now  the 
manufacturers  have  got  to  tend  to  their  knitting  for 
money." 

Bayard  went  aglow  with  the  realization  of  the  oppor- 
tunity. He  began  to  tremble  at  the  vision  of  the  sudden 
avalanches  of  wealth  pouring  down  the  bleak  mountains 
of  despair.  He  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  Niagaras  of 
gold. 

Daphne  and  Leila  came  rushing  from  concealment. 
Clay's  beatitude  was  so  complete  that  he  forgot  his  re- 
sentments and  kissed  them  both.  Finding  Daphne  in 
his  arms  again,  he  groaned: 

"I'm  sorry  I  was  such  a  dog  the  other  night,  darling. 
But  I  had  just  found  the  first  gleam  of  hope  and  I  was 
crazy  to  tell  you,  and  I  waited  outside  till  I  was  almost 
dead.  Then  you  came  at  last  with  Duane,  and  I  forgot 
everything  but  my  ugly  temper.  Forgive  me." 

"No,  forgive  me.  I  oughtn't  to  have  gone  with  him, 
but  I —  Well,  he  offered  to  help  you;  and — "  She  was 
looking  for  some  excuse  that  should  not  mar  his  bliss. 

Clay  flung  his  head  high  and  answered:  "Damn  his 
charity!  I  don't  need  his  help!  I'll  be  able  to  buy  and 
sell  Duanes  by  the  dozen  before  long." 

Daphne  laughed  with  ecstasy  at  his  conceit.  It  had 
been  so  long  since  she  had  seen  him  reveal  any  emotion 
but  craven  humility  or  sick  rage  at  ill  luck.  Bumptious- 
ness was  very  becoming  to  him. 

He  dropped  to  a  divan  and  made  her  sit  alongside. 
Bayard  beckoned  Leila  to  her  old  throne  on  his  knees. 

Clay  held  forth  like  one  returned  from  Golconda.  He 
grew  lyrical,  Pindaric,  with  his  celebration  of  the  Olympic 
victory  over  poverty.  They  all  laughed  till  their  eyes 
were  wet  at  the  abrupt  redemption  from  the  hell  of  want. 

Clay,  the  weakling,  the  improvident,  the  mournful, 
404 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  skulker,  was  Napoleon  returned  from  Elba;  hostile 
armies  were  flinging  themselves  at  his  feet ;  generals  wert 
embracing  his  knees,  asking  him  to  lead  them,  provisior, 
accouter  them.  England,  France,  Russia  were  imploring 
him  to  save  them  and  take  their  millions  as  tribute. 

He  had  thought  out  everything.  He  knew  the  factory 
and  its  machinery,  and  he  had  sought  expert  advice  on  its 
adaptation  to  the  needs  of  the  occasion.  He  had  not  for- 
gotten a  legitimate  selfishness.  He  had  arranged  com- 
missions for  himself  in  every  direction.  He  had  arranged 
for  partial  payments  in  advance.  He  had  arranged  that 
the  final  payments  should  be  made  when  the  wares  were 
delivered  at  the  American  docks  so  that  the  risks  of 
transfer  across  the  submarine-infested  ocean  should  not 
fall  on  the  manufacturers.  He  had  even  made  the 
stipulation  that  the  moneys  should  be  paid  in  American 
dollars,  since  he  foresaw  the  panics  in  exchange  rates  that 
afterward  threw  the  markets  into  temporary  convulsions. 

Daphne  made  a  profound  comment:  "Opportunity 
knocks  at  every  man's  door,  they  say,  and  Clay  didn't  keep 
her  waiting.  Did  you,  honey?" 

Clay  answered  with  excusable  modesty:  "Knocked  at 
my  door,  eh?  She  never  came  near  my  part  of  town.  I 
went  out  and  found  her  running  down  a  side  street,  and  I 
lassoed  her  and  dragged  her  in.  I've  got  her  locked  in  my 
cellar  and  I've  trained  her  to  eat  out  of  my  hand." 

"You're  simply  wonderful!"  Daphne  cried,  and  hugged 
him  till  he  ouched.  She  was  not  jealous  of  Opportunity 

• — yet. 

Bayard  was  frantic  to  be  at  work.  He  resolved  to 
telephone  the  president  of  his  company  at  once  and  lay 
the  matter  before  him.  Leila  cannily  advised  Bayard  to 
grasp  the  whip-hand  of  the  situation  and  keep  it.  He 
agreed  that  she  was  right,  and  promised  her  a  commission 
on  his  commission. 

She  began  to  dance  about  the  room  like  9,  Miriam  cele- 
brating the  passage  of  the  Red  Sea, 

405 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"The  first  thing  we'll  do,"  she  said,  "will  be  to  get  my 
jewelry  out  of  the  pawnshop  and  the  second  will  be  to 
buy  some  more.  And,  oh,  the  dresses  and  the  hats!" 

This  asserted  a  sobering  effect  on  Bayard.  "No,"  he 
announced.  "We've  gone  through  Hades  once  because  I 
gambled  away  my  reserves.  This  time  I'm  going  to  get 
a  big  reserve  before  I  spend  a  cent.  I'll  never  risk  another 
ordeal  like  the  one  we've  been  through.  I've  learned  my 
lesson.  No  more  fractures  of  the  Thirteenth  for  me!" 

Leila  laughed. 

Bayard  went  to  the  telephone  to  start  the  wheels  of 
the  factory  in  motion  by  summoning  the  president  to 
council.  He  paused  to  ask:  "He'll  want  to  know  who  the 
foreign  agent  is  you  are  dealing  with?  Or  are  there 
several?  Who  shall  I  say?" 

Clay  answered :  ' '  All  my  contracts  come  through  a  queer 
sort  of  Englishman.  He's  out  for  Number  One,  and  he 
insisted  on  his  little  private  rake-off,  but  it's  worth  it  if  we 
get  the  contracts." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"You've  got  to  keep  it  dark.  He  doesn't  want  it  to  be 
known.  The  foreign  spies  are  watching  him  now.  That's 
why  he  has  me  help  him.  That's  why  he  pretends  to  be  a 
mere  butterfly." 

"But  I've  got  to  know  who  he  is,"  Bayard  urged. 
"What  the  devil  is  his  name?" 

"Wetherell,"  said  Clay. 


CHAPTER  LVII 

'"PHE  great  Skoda  gun  that  suddenly  one  day  dropped 
1    a  monster  shell  in  Dunkirk  twenty  miles  off  could 
hardly  have  caused  more  stupefaction  than  the  name  of 
Wetherell  detonating  in  that  room. 

Daphne  snatched  her  hand  from  Clay's.  Bayard 
sprang  up  so  sharply  that  he  almost  threw  Leila  forward 
on  her  face.  Instinctively  he  caught  her  by  the  arm  and 
saved  her  from  falling.  But  instantly  he  flung  her  arm 
from  him  in  a  gush  of  disgust. 

Clay  gaped  at  the  tableau  in  bewilderment.  He  had 
not  dreamed  that  any  of  the  three  had  ever  heard  of 
Wetherell.  He  could  not  imagine  the  bitterness  the  name 
involved. 

Bayard  tossed  his  clenched  fists  up  in  the  air  in  a  frenzy 
at  the  bad  taste  of  fate's  latest  practical  joke. 

"Wouldn't  that  be  my  luck!"  he  groaned.  "Wouldn't 
it  be  my  rotten  luck  that  this  one  chance  should  come  to 
me  with  that  string  tied  to  it?  And  with  that  yellow  dog 
tied  to  the  string?  And  I  let  him  get  away!  I  didn't 
beat  him  up!  I  thought  I  hated  him,  but  I  didn't  know 
how  much  I  ought  to  hate  him.  Honestly,  this  is  the 
funniest  damned  thing  I  ever  heard  of." 

The  strange  sounds  issuing  from  him  were  ambiguous 
between  sobs  and  laughter.  His  face  was  contorted  in  an 
anguish  of  amusement. 

Leila  studied  him  with  repugnance,  as  if  he  were  a 
monstrosity  dredged  up  from  the  deepest  sea.  Clay's 
mouth  was  still  open  and  staring  like  a  dull  third  eye. 
He  asked,  humbly: 

407 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Will  some  kind  friend  please  tell  me  what  all  the 
excitement  is  about?" 

This  was  not  so  easy.  Who  wanted  to  tell  Clay  that 
Leila  had  just  been  accused  of  neglecting  her  husband 
and  her  own  duties  for  the  society  of  this  very  Wetherell  ? 
Leila  herself  was  the  one  that  told  him.  She  told  him 
bitterly,  excoriating  Bayard  and  Daphne  as  co-con- 
spirators in  the  wreck  of  her  reputation  and  Wetherell's. 

Bayard  was  determined  to  throw  up  the  whole  deal 
and  let  the  European  nations  take  care  of  themselves. 

Leila  realized  at  once  that  they  were  all  in  grave 
danger  of  backsliding  into  the  abyss  of  poverty.  This 
was  maddening  so  soon  after  such  visions  of  wealth. 
She  must  conquer  Bayard's  wrath,  and  to  do  that  she 
must  first  conquer  her  own.  She  won  the  victory  over 
herself  with  a  struggle,  and  then  went  to  Bayard's  side, 
pushed  his  elbows  from  his  knees,  and  re-established  her- 
self there. 

He  turned  his  face  from  her,  and  she  twisted  it 
back  and  stared  into  it  and  made  a  grimace.  He  felt 
like  a  spoiled,  pouting  child,  ashamed  to  be  serious  and 
ashamed  to  be  duped  into  a  smile. 

"Look  here,  Bydie,"  Leila  cooed  and  billed,  "don't  you 
think  you've  done  enough?  You've  shown  me  that  you 
don't  trust  me,  and  you've  ordered  Mr.  Wetherell  never 
to  come  near  me  again.  Isn't  that  enough  without  beg- 
garing us  all  for  spite?  What  else  is  it  but  cheap,  nasty 
spite?" 

"It's  a  great  deal  more  than  spite,"  Bayard  groaned. 
"Do  you  think.  I'll  accept  favors  from  a  man  who  has 
been  courting  you  and  got  caught  at  it?  I'd  rather 
starve!" 

"Well,  I  wouldn't !"  Leila  averred.  "And  I'm  not  going 
to  starve.  And  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  commit  hari- 
kari  on  Wetherell's  door-step,  just  to  spite  him.  And  I 
won't  let  you  condemn  me  to  this  poverty  life  any  more. 
If  you  don't  accept  these  contracts  I'll  leave  you.  I'll  go 

408 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

to  your  president  myself  with  the  scheme.  He'll  see  a 
way  to  accept  it.  He'll  be  mighty  glad  to  start  up  his 
factory  again,  and  several  hundred  idle  workers  will  be 
mighty  glad  for  a  new  chance  at  work,  and  so  will  their 
poor  families.  I  tell  you  again,  once  for  all,  there  was 
nothing  wrong  in  Wetherell's  behavior,  absolutely  noth- 
ing. It's  outrageous  that  you  should  accuse  me  of  such 
horrible  things." 

She  was  crying — crying  very  caressably,  and  she  was 
close  enough  to  topple  over  and  sob  into  his  neck.  And, 
after  all,  he  was  human;  a  husband  often  is.  In  a 
moment  he  was  embracing  her  and  imploring  her  for- 
giveness. This  surrender  restored  her  to  smiles  and  re- 
newed her  expectations  of  wealth. 

A  spectator  to  the  tender  scene  could  never  .have 
imagined  that  the  graceful  young  woman  was  trying  to 
persuade  the  clinging  young  man  to  manufacture  shells 
and  cannon  for  the  foreign  wars.  But  the  scene  was  re- 
peated with  many  variations  innumerable  times  about  the 
world;  for  in  that  amazing  series  of  enormous  trans- 
actions, women  of  all  sorts — wives,  mistresses,  cocottes — • 
played  an  incessant  part.  In  hundreds  of  little  apart- 
ments there  were  just  such  conspiracies  cooking. 

So  Bayard  was  coerced  into  having  his  life  saved  by 
his  enemy.  It  was  one  thing,  however,  to  consent  to  deal 
with  Wetherell,  and  another  to  devise  a  tolerable  recon- 
ciliation. 

"All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  make  up  with  him,"  said 
Leila,  brightly. 

Very  dark  was  Bayard's  tone.  "All  I've  got  to  do  is 
to  say  to  this  man  I  despise:  'I  told  you  awhile  ago 
that  if  you  came  near  my  wife  I'd  beat  you  up.  Now  I 
find  that  you  have  a  job  to  give  me;  so  please  forget 
what  I  said,  and  come  to  see  my  wife  as  often  as  you  • 

win."1 

There  was  a  loathsome  phase  to  it.     Bayard  hated 

409 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

nothing  so  much  as  having  to  eat  his  words.  If  he  had 
only  not  spoken  to  Wetherell !  If  he  had  pretended  to  be 
blind!  He  was  troubled  with  all  the  motives  that  re- 
strain the  complacent  husband. 

He  told  himself  that  he  had  not  the  slightest  justifica- 
tion for  his  suspicion  of  Leila  beyond  the  insolent  theory 
that  a  wife  who  would  go  out  riding  with  a  man  not  her 
husband  would  ride  on  as  far  as  the  man  liked.  This 
was  medieval  cynicism,  but  he  had  yielded  to  it  and 
acted  on  it. 

The  more  he  longed  for  the  contracts  that  Wetherell 
controlled,  the  more  his  gorge  rose  at  asking  him  for  them. 

Leila,  the  resourceful,  seeing  and  appreciating  the 
paralysis  of  his  will,  found  a  way. round,  as  usual. 

"L'll  call  on  Mrs.  T.  J.  B.,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  know  her?"  Clay  exclaimed. 

"Yes.     Do  you?"  said  Leila. 

"Of  course.  She  was  the  one  who  introduced  me  to 
Wetherell." 

And  now  it  was  Daphne's  turn  to  flash  up  with  jealousy. 
"Where  did  you  meet  that  awful  creature?" 

"How  do  you  know  she  is  awful?"  Clay  countered. 

"Didn't  I  meet  her  and  ride  with  her  in  Wetherell's 
car?" 

"Good  Lord!  I  didn't  know  you  knew  Wetherell. 
And  when  were  you  in  his  car?" 

It  seemed  as  if  all  the  cats  in  the  world  were  escaping 
from  all  the  bags  in  the  world  and  organizing  a  Kilkenny 
congress. 

Daphne  had  to  confess :  "  I've  had  no  chance  to  tell  you. 
The  day  I  went  motoring  with  Mr.  Duane  we  were  run 
into  and  Mr.  Wetherell  happened  along  and  took  us  in 
his  car  as  far  as  Yonkers." 

"Only  as  far  as  Yonkers?"  Clay  broke  in,  with  recrudes- 
cent  suspicion.  "  Why  not  all  the  way  to  town  ?  Duane 
wanted  to  be  alone  with  you,  I  suppose." 

"I  suppose  so!"  Daphne  answered,  with  a  sigh  of  dis- 
4.10 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

gust,  scorning  to  explain  that  Wetherell  had  been  bound 
in  the  opposite  direction.  "Anyway,  Mrs.  T.  J.  B. — your 
friend  Mrs.  T.  J.  B. — was  in  the  car  with  Mr.  Wetherell. 
So  I  met  her.  And  since  you  are  so  suspicious  you  might 
explain  where  Mrs.  T.  J.  B.  was  when  you  met  her  your- 
self?" 

Clay  answered  with  the  helpless  superiority  of  a  born 
New-Yorker  for  an  immigrant  from  any  direction: 

"I  suppose  she  was  leaning  over  my  baby-carriage  in 
Central  Park.  I  was  about  the  same  age  as  her  daughter, 
Pet  Bettany.  We  haven't  known  each  other  very  well, 
for  I  couldn't  keep  up  with  the  rich  gang,  and  she  has 
hung  on  somehow.  Well,  in  New  Jersey  the  other  day  I 
met  a  man  who  spoke  of  war-munition  contracts  in  the  air, 
and  he  knew  somebody  who  knew  that  Mrs.  T.  J.  B.  had 
a  hand  in  them.  It  meant  so  much  that  I  looked  her  up. 
And  she  confessed  that  she  had  this  young  English  officer 
in  tow  and  she  was  helping  him — for  a  consideration. 
She  welcomed  me  and  offered  me  as  many  contracts  as 
I  could  place — for  old  friendship's  sake  and  a  commission. 
The  dear  soul  is  getting  commissions  in  all  directions." 

"What  relation  is  she  to  Wetherell?" 

"  It's  none  of  my  business.     I  didn't  ask  her." 

"Why?" 

"I  was  afraid  she  might  tell  me." 

This  scandalous  insinuation  seemed  to  help  Bayard 
somehow.  He  began  with  a  queer  look  at  Leila. 

"Well,  if  that's  her  relation  to  Wetherell,  I  apologize 
to  you,  Leila." 

Leila  understood  what  he  meant  and  it  embittered  her 
so  that  she  taunted  him:  "Sometimes  they  have  more 
than  one." 

Bayard  turned  scarlet.  It  was  unpardonable  for  her 
to  joke  about  her  own  reputation.  He  had  not  forgotten 
what  he  had  implied  against  it,  and  he  was  in  a  snarl  of 
discomforts. 

The  four  sat  in  a  quartet  of  discord  until  Clay  looked 
411 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

at  his  watch  and  said,  "In  the  meanwhile  the  Allies  are 
anxiously  scanning  the  horizon,  looking  for  our  munitions." 

"And  my  creditors  are  anxiously  scanning  their  mail, 
looking  for  checks  from  my  empty  bank  account." 

"You  can  fill  that  bank  account  to  overflowing  if  you'll 
only  get  busy,"  said  Clay. 

"Well,"  Bayard  sighed,  "beggars  can't  be  choosers. 
If  I'd  saved  my  money  I  shouldn't  have  to  take  Wetherell's 
money." 

Bayard  called  up  the  president  of  his  company  at  the 
office.  He  was  away.  Bayard  called  up  his  house.  He 
was  at  his  country  home.  Bayard  called  up  his  country 
home.  He  was  at  his  country  club.  Bayard  called  up 
his  country  club.  He  was  at  the  golf-house.  Bayard 
called  up  the  golf-house.  He  was  out  on  the  course. 
Bayard  had  him  paged  on  the  links. 

After  a  maddening  delay  Mr.  Lispenard  arrived  at  the 
telephone  in  the  locker-room.  He  expected  Bayard  to 
ask  for  a  loan,  and  he  began  with  a  tale  of  complete  misery, 
including  a  story  of  bad  luck  in  his  shots  and  the  smash- 
ing of  a  beloved  brassy. 

When  at  length  he  consented  to  listen,  Bayard's  oration 
made  a  huge  success.  Bayard  began  to  smile  to  himself, 
to  wink  at  the  spectators,  and  finally  to  share  in  the 
apparent  rapture  of  his  distant  ear-to-ear. 

The  end  of  the  matter  was  that  when  Bayard  left  the 
telephone  he  was  a  new  man.  He  had  cunningly  raised 
his  chief's  hopes  to  the  highest  degree,  yet  withheld  the 
name  of  the  English  agent.  He  explained  that  he  intended 
to  take  Leila's  advice  and  use  his  knowledge  as  a  lever 
for  his  own  advancement,  and  Clay's. 

So  elated  he  was  with  his  importance  as  the  rescuer 
of  his  firm  and  the  guardian  of  millions  of  dollars  that  he 
even  forgave  Wetherell.  "I'm  not  going  to  let  a  little 
obstacle  like  six  feet  of  Englishman  keep  me  from  being 
rich  and  powerful.  Wetherell  needs  me  as  much  as  I 
need  him,  and  I  guess  I  told  him  all  that  was  necessary 

412 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

to  square  him  for  any  ideas  he  may  have  had  about  my 
wife." 

Leila's  eyes  hardened  again,  as  if  she  did  not  quite  like 
Bayard  in  this  humor.  But  she  was  glad  of  any  com- 
promise he  might  make  with  his  temper.  He  turned  to 
her  to  say: 

"You  needn't  call  on  any  old  Mrs.  T.  J.  B.,  Leila.  I'll 
take  the  blame  for  what  I've  done,  and  I'll  meet  Wether- 
ell  as  man  to  man — at  least,  as  business  man  to  business 
man." 

She  liked  him  a  trifle  better  for  that.  But  Clay  prom- 
ised to  save  him  from  any  embarrassment  by  closing  the 
contracts  for  Bayard's  firm  without  involving  Bayard's 
name.  Thus  delicacy  was  again  removed  from  its  dan- 
gerous effect  of  sand  in  the  gear-box. 

Clay  and  Bayard  sat  down  to  make  figures,  and  the 
talk  grew  too  technical  for  the  women  to  endure.  After 
hearing  the  first  music  of  Bayard  and  Clay  chanting  in 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars,  Daphne  stole  out  un- 
heeded and  went  up  to  her  own  room. 

Mr.  Chivvis  was  sitting  by  a  window  in  mournful  idle- 
ness. Mrs.  Chiwis  was  stitching  away  at  her  em- 
broidery. She  was  cheerful — for  her.  She  told  Daphne 
that  she  had  found  a  market  for  her  needlework;  the 
prices  were  poor,  but  they  were  real.  She  advised  Daphne 
to  get  to  work  with  her. 

Daphne  had  not  the  courage  to  say  that  her  brother 
and  her  betrothed  were  about  to  become  plutocrats. 
She  said  only  that  she  was  very  tired.  And  there  is  no 
more  exhausting  drain  on  the  nerves  than  their  response 
to  unexpected  good  news.  It  is  more  fatiguing  than 
bad.  She  was  surprised  and  shocked,  too,  to  find  how 
snobbish  she  was  all  of  a  sudden  about  the  petty  earnings 
of  a  Chiwis. 

Daphne  flung  herself  on  her  bed  in  her  dark  room  and 
let  her  weary  thoughts  gambol.  It  was  good  to  think 
of  money.  After  the  long  drought,  gold  seemed  to  patter 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

through  the  ceiling  like  a  rain  in  a  yellow  sunset.  The 
coins  almost  audibly  tinkled  about  her  as  about  another 
Danae.  She  put  out  her  hands  for  cups  to  catch  them 
as  they  fell. 

There  was  no  further  temptation  in  Duane's  money 
now.  She  was  to  have  money  in  her  own  family.  Her 
brother  would  be  rich.  Her  lover  would  be  rich. 

Then  a  harsh  thought — she  was  not  really  engaged  to 
Clay.  They  had  quarreled.  He  had  hated  her.  He  had 
expressed  his  distrust  of  her. 

Still,  Bayard  would  have  money.  He  would  take  care 
of  her.  Of  course  he  had  his  wife  and  his  father  and 
mother — perhaps  Leila's  father  and  mother  would  need 
help.  But  there  would  surely  be  enough  to  keep  his 
sister.  In  fact,  he  would  be  so  rich  that  Clay  might 
well  be  proud  to  be  related  to  him  by  marriage. 

And  then  she  groaned  and  wriggled.  Here  she  was 
again — debating  what  man  should  support  her!  What 
man  should  give  her  glory!  Where  were  her  dreams  of 
independence,  of  self -sustenance?  She  had  planned  to 
lift  herself  by  her  own  Oxford  ties,  and  she  had  only  pulled 
out  the  bow-knots. 


CHAPTER   LVIII 

IN  those  days  the  United  States  of  America  suddenly 
woke  to  the  fact  that  they  could  pull  themselves  out 
of  bankruptcy  by  helping  the  benighted  states  of  Europe 
into  it. 

The  long  panic  that  preceded  the  war  had  been  free 
from  the  old  curse  of  private  hoarding.  It  was  the  banks 
that  hoarded.  Their  coffers  ached  with  useless  funds. 
The  newly  created  system  of  national  reserve  banks 
centralized  and  mobilized  the  store.  Then  came  the  call 
to  use  the  funds  in  the  manufacture  of  battlewares  and 
in  speculation. 

The  stock  exchanges,  where  a  few  brokers  had  long 
swapped  stories  of  bad  luck,  became  football  fields.  The 
discharged  clerks  were  called  back  and  set  to  work  till 
they  cried  for  mercy.  The  brokerage  offices  were  kept 
open  all  night  and  Sunday  to  record  the  almost  innumer- 
able transfers  of  the  business  hours.  In  offices  where 
partners  had  lately  snoozed  at  noon,  cots  were  put  so 
that  exhausted  clerks  might  take  brief  naps  at  midnight. 
Meals  were  eaten  at  desks.  The  well-nigh  forgotten 
million-share  days  became  the  habitual  thing. 

There  were  sudden  geysers  of  fortune  and  sudden  col- 
lapses of  failure.  As  in  bonanza  times,  many  were  ruined, 
while  the  few  prospered.  But  Clay  and  Bayard  seemed  to 
touch  nothing  that  did  not  turn  to  gold.  Bayard  had 
gained  immense  prestige  with  his  firm  because  of  the 
huge  orders  he  brought  in.  He  took  all  the  power  that 
was  accorded  and  gasped  for  more.  His  most  reckless 
audacities  were  rewarded  with  success.  He  rode  a  tidal 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

wave  and  swam  with  it  so  well  that  all  his  progress  seemed 
to  be  due  to  his  own  power. 

Clay  rushed  forward  with  even  greater  velocity.  He 
refused  to  accept  his  old  place  in  the  office,  though  he 
was  invited  to  take  it  with  increased  salary  and  au- 
thority. He  felt  that  he  could  do  better  on  his  own. 
And  he  was  free.  He  had  no  family  to  take  his  hours, 
his  emotions,  or  his  funds. 

Bayard  had  a  family,  but  it  got  few  of  his  hours  now. 
He  was  frantically  busy;  he  took  only  occasional  meals 
at  the  apartment,  but  he  slept  there  except  when  his 
business  called  him  out  of  town.  He  slept  like  a  dead 
old  man,  too  exhausted  with  other  emotions  to  have 
zest  for  love  or  laughter. 

While  Bayard  was  accepting  the  moneys  that  the  eager 
bankers  thrust  upon  him,  he  had  bethought  him  to  bor- 
row enough  for  his  own  living  expenses  on  a  more  liberal 
scale.  He  ransomed  Leila's  jewels  from  captivity  and 
bought  her  better  as  well.  He  showered  the  radiant 
Leila  with  a  double  handful  of  bills  one  evening.  And 
once  when  he  missed  a  theater  party  he  had  promised 
to  enjoy  with  her,  his  peace-offering  was  a  bouquet  of 
greenbacks  fresh  culled  from  the  mint.  He  blithely 
forgot  the  Thirteenth  Commandment  and  excused  his 
extravagances  by  pointing  to  his  uncontrollable  suc- 
cess. 

He  reduced  the  insolent  butcher  to  groveling  homage 
by  paying  all  his  bill  at  once.  He  astounded  Dutilh  with 
the  solution  of  that  old  account,  and  with  a  cash  payment 
for  new  gowns  in  celebration  of  his  new  glory.  He  did 
not  forget  his  own  people.  He  telegraphed  his  mother 
a  thousand  dollars  and  almost  slew  her  with  amazement. 
He  telegraphed  his  father  simply  the  price  of  a  railroad 
ticket  to  New  York,  and  a  peremptory  summons  to  take 
the  first  train  East. 

When  Daphne  heard  this  she  had  to  sit  down  to  keep 
from  falling  down.  Bayard  resuscitated  her  with  a  check 

416 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

for  a  thousand  dollars.  It  meant  nothing  more  to  her 
than  abracadabra.  The  whole  incredible  alteration  was 
a  fairy-story  to  her.  She  made  a  faint  attempt  to  refuse 
the  gift,  but  Bayard  forced  it  back  into  her  palm  and 
closed  her  fingers  on  it. 

Gradually  she  understood  that  she  was  a  millionairess 
to  the  extent  of  a  whole  thousand  dollars.  She  began  to 
weep  deliciously.  She  felt  so  sorry  for  all  she  had  been 
through  and  all  the  things  these  thousand  guardian  angels 
might  have  saved  her  from,  that  she  almost  hated  them 
for  arriving  so  late.  But  gradually  the  ex  post  facto  grief 
was  assuaged,  and  she  placed  herself  at  the  head  of  her 
thousand  angels  and  defied  the  world. 

She  repaid  Bayard  with  kisses  till  she  lost  count,  and 
embraces  till  they  both  lost  breath.  Then  she  borrowed 
from  him  enough  cash  to  pay  her  moss-grown  bill  with 
the  Chiwises. 

Bayard  took  the  amount  from  a  bundle  of  bills  as  big 
and  sweet  as  a  jelly-roll. 

Daphne  could  not  wait  for  the  elevator.  She  ran  up 
several  flights  of  stairs,  scratched  the  door  with  her  palsied 
latch-key,  and  flung  herself  into  Mrs.  Chiwis'  arms  and 
kissed  her — even  Mrs.  Chiwis.  Her  apology  was  the 
money  for  the  bill. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  took  it  with  a  quivering  hand  and  turned 
to  her  husband  to  say:  "You  see,  dear,  prayers  are  an- 
swered, after  all."  She  regarded  the  money  as  a  direct 
remittance  from  heaven,  and  Daphne  as  a  specially 
credentialed  white  raven  to  deliver  it.  "You  don't  know 
what  this  means  to  us  just  now,"  she  mumbled.  "I'm 
so  glad  you  never  paid  us  before.  Everything  always 
turns  out  for  the  best." 

Daphne  did  not  think  to  tell  her  that  the  money  was 
the  direct  result  of  the  devil's  bloody  carnival  in  Europe. 
Instead,  she  flaunted  before  her  the  check  bearing  the 
heavenly  legend  commanding  the  Fifth  Avenue  Bank  to 
"pay  to  Daphne  Kip  or  order  one  thousand  and  no  hun- 
14  417 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

dredths  dollars"  on  penalty  of  incurring  the  displeasure 
of  "Bayard  Kip." 

Mrs.  Chivvis  handled  the  parchment  with  reverence, 
and  permitted  her  husband  to  touch  it.  It  might  have 
been  one  of  the  golden  leaves  of  the  sacred  Book  of  Mor- 
mon, and  she  a  sealed  wife  of  Brigham  himself. 

"What  are  you  planning  to  do  with  all  this?"  she  said 
at  length. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Daphne.  "I'd  frame  it  in  place 
of  my  first  fifty,  but  I  think  it's  bad  luck  to  frame  checks. 
I'd  send  it  home,  but  mamma  has  one  just  like  it,  and 
daddy  is  coming  over  to-morrow  to  get  his.  What  would 
you  suggest?" 

"You  were  planning  to  go  into  business.  Why  not  use 
this  as  capital?" 

"Fine!  What  business  ought  I  to  start — banking? 
or  battle-ship  building?  or  what?" 

"There's  embroidery,"  said  Mrs.  Chivvis. 

Daphne  had  to  guffaw  at  that.  There  are  breaking- 
strains  beyond  the  tensile  strength  of  the  steeliest  polite- 
ness. Daphne  could  not  keep  her  face  straight  or  her 
laughter  smothered. 

Mrs.  Chivvis  did  not  laugh.  "I  mean  it,"  she  urged; 
"think  it  over." 

"All  right,  I'll  think  it  over.  But  let's  go  to  the 
theater  somewhere  together — not  to  a  cheap  movie,  but 
to—  How  would  you  like  to  go  to  a  grand  opera?  That's 
the  most  expensive  thing  open  to  the  public  to-night." 

The  Chivvises  protested,  but  Daphne  dragged  them  to 
the  Metropolitan — after  borrowing  back  enough  of  her 
money  to  pay  for  the  tickets  and  the  cabs. 


CHAPTER  LIX 

r"PHAT  night  Daphne  slept  with  her  thousand-dollar 
1  check  under  her  pillow.  It  insured  sweeter  dreams 
than  a  piece  of  wedding-cake.  She  woke  once  or  twice, 
however,  with  a  start.  She  was  afraid  of  burglars.  At 
last  there  was  something  for  them  to  steal  from  her. 
If  they  but  knew,  how  they  would  gather  about  her ! 

But  she  felt  for  the  check,  and  it  was  there.  Finally 
she  realized  that  it  was  payable  only  to  her  and  she 
doubted  if  even  a  burglar  could  forge  her  signature. 
After  that  she  snuggled  deeper  into  her  curls  and  slept 
on  and  on  and  on,  till  Mrs.  Chivvis'  thimble  clacked  on 
the  door  and  Mrs.  Chivvis'  voice  respectfully  informed 
her  wealthy  young  paying  guest  that  her  father  was  in 
her  brother's  apartment,  having  his  breakfast. 

Daphne  came  out  of  the  bed  with  something  like  the 
effect  of  a  screw-propeller  breaking  loose  from  its  crank- 
shaft. She  went  into  her  clothes  in  a  series  of  dives  and 
into  as  few  of  them  as  she  dared  to  assume  for  the  elevator 
descent.  She  put  on  a  long  winter  coat  over  that  mini- 
mum and  a  boudoir  cap  over  her  frowsy  hair. 

The  elevator-man  was  as  much  embarrassed  as  she  was, 
but  she  reached  Bayard's  apartment  without  further 
spectation,  and  pounced  on  her  father  with  all  girlishness 
of  welcome.  She  saw  on  his  face  that  glow  of  trust  he  had 
worn  in  the  faded  photograph,  and  she  thanked  Heaven 
again  that  she  was  still  what  her  father  would  wish  her 
to  be. 

He  could  not  know  what  temptations  had  gathered 
about  her,  and  she  was  glad.  She  was  glad  that  he  would 
not  know  of  her  despairs  and  her  adventures  with  Gerst. 

419 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Now  that  everybody  was  glorious  with  money,  it  was  best 
of  all  that  he  had  not  known. 

He  was  dazed  enough  with  what  Bayard  had  been  tell- 
ing him.  He  was  tremulous  with  the  change  in  the  air. 
Bayard  was  no  longer  a  desperate  son  begging  alms  of  a 
helpless  father.  He  was  a  young  prince  in  golden  armor, 
riding  down  a  bannered  street  and  tossing  largess  on  either 
hand. 

Daphne  was  invited  to  breakfast,  and  she  made  a  picnic 
of  it.  Leila  waited  on  the  table.  She  had  not  got  in  a 
new  maid.  She  was  looking  for  a  French  couple  to 
buttle  and  cook.  Bayard  was  impatient  to  get  to  business. 
His  office  was  waiting  for  him  and  he  wanted  to  set  his 
father  to  work. 

Wesley  Kip  could  hardly  believe  what  he  was  hearing 
from  this  masterful  director  who  had  lately  been  a  harried 
pauper. 

Bayard  was  ordering  -his  father  to  sign  a  number  of 
munition  contracts  and  telegraph  to  Cleveland  to  open 
his  factory  and  reassemble  his  dispersed  employees. 
Wesley  protested  that  the  Allies  could  have  no  possible 
use  for  Kip's  Kalkulators. 

' '  Of  course  not, ' '  Bayard  roared.  ' '  You  are  to  make  war 
supplies.  You've  got  machinery  and  skilled  labor,  and 
those  are  what  the  Allies  can't  find  at  home.  There  are 
a  hundred  parts  to  a  rifle.  They  need  millions  of  rifles. 
You  could  make  firing-pins  or  sight-leaves  or  windage- 
screws  or  triggers  or  sleeve-locks  or  sear-springs  or  bolts — 
anything.  The  Allies  are  recruiting  all  the  neutral  world 
to  help  them  whip  Germany  and  Austria." 

"But  do  you  think  it's  legal  for  us  to  make  munitions?" 
Wesley  queried. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  Bayard  thundered.  "International 
law  justifies  it.  Germany  and  Austria  sold  munitions  to 
Spain  when  we  were  fighting  her,  and  to  England  when 
she  was  fighting  the  Boers.  Germany  wanted  the  Boers 
to  win,  but  she  helped  England  whip  'em." 

420 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Wesley  was  still  afraid  of  the  temptation  to  get  rich 
by  making  implements  of  slaughter.  "But  it  seems  kind 
of  terrible  for  me  at  my  time  of  life  to  set  to  work  making 
things  to  kill  people  with — poor  fellows  I  never  saw,  sons 
of  sad  old  mothers  and  fathers,  and  husbands  with  chil- 
dren waitin'  for  'em,  and  nice  young  fellows  with  nice 
young  girls  in  love  with  'em." 

"I  know,"  Bayard  said,  "it's  all  hideous.  But  it's 
life  and  history,  and  there's  always  been  war  and  always 
will  be." 

"But  we  ought  to  be  neutral,  hadn't  we?" 

"No!  there's  no  such  thing  as  being  neutral.  To  keep 
out  is  to  help  the  other  side.  And  think  of  this,  dad:  if 
neutral  nations  don't  manufacture  munitions  in  time  of 
war,  there's  no  hope  of  human  liberty  or  of  disarmament." 

"That  sounds  kind  of  what  the  fellow  called  para- 
doxical." 

"Yes,  but  it's  the  plain  truth.  Look  here,  dad,  sup- 
pose a  certain  nation  is  land-hungry ;  it  starts  out  to  build 
up  a  huge  army,  it  turns  all  its  people  into  soldiers ;  takes 
two  or  three  of  the  best  years  of  every  young  man's  life 
to  keep  him  in  barracks;  it  makes  every  man  leave  his 
business  every  year  and  go  to  maneuvers;  it  makes  the 
man  in  uniform  more  sacred  than  the  priest  in  his  robes; 
lets  him  push  the  civilian  off  the  sidewalk;  it  piles  up 
immense  amounts  of  guns  and  ammunition;  makes  all 
its  railroads  run  where  they  are  of  the  best  military 
value;  fits  every  car  for  use  by  the  army;  fits  every 
private  automobile  or  commercial  truck  for  military  use; 
fills  the  whole  world  with  spies;  bribes  other  people's 
soldiers  to  tell  secrets;  arranges  its  own  business  so  that 
it  can  instantly  adapt  itself  to  a  sudden  war;  arranges  to 
take  over  the  whole  food-supply;  arranges  for  a  tremen- 
dous gold  reserve — does  everything  that  can  be  done  to 
make  ready  to  whip  the  whole  universe. 

"What  can  the  other  nations  do?  They've  got  to 
imitate  that  warlike  nation  and  keep  pace  with  it  night 

421 


and  day,  and  to  the  same  extent,  or  when  the  war  comes 
— they're  gone,  unless — unless  they're  able  to  go  into  the 
open  market  and  buy  what  they  need.  Once  you  forbid 
neutrals  to  manufacture  war  supplies  militarism  becomes 
a  necessity  with  everybody.  The  best  way  we  can  work 
for  peace  with  honor  is  to  make  munitions  as  fast  as  we 
can.  Don't  you  see,  dad?" 

Wesley  was  thrilled  more  perhaps  by  the  ardor  of  his 
son  than  by  his  reason,  but  he  answered,  fervently, 
"I  guess  I  do." 

"Another  thing,"  Bayard  went  on,  "and  the  biggest 
reason  of  all,  is  this:  We're  mobilizing  our  own  resources, 
learning  what  to  do  if  trouble  comes  our  way.  I  tell  you, 
dad,  it's  your  duty  as  an  American  patriot  to  jump  into 
this  business.  And  if  you  get  rich  incidentally,  why, 
what's  the  harm?  Your  old  factory  will  hum  again; 
the  rust  on  your  machinery  will  glisten,  and  hundreds  of 
half-starved  employees  will  know  what  the  full  dinner- 
pail  is  once  more." 

"All  right!"  Wesley  shouted.  "I'm  with  you!  We'll 
turn  out  Kip's  Kattridges  in  place  of  Kip's  Kalkulators. 
Three  cheers  for  liberty  and  lucre!"  He  embraced  Bay- 
ard and  called  him  a  good  old  scout. 

Leila  and  Daphne  laughed,  and  an  aureole  of  wealth 
shone  about  them  all. 

"And  now,"  said  Bayard,  "we'll  go  down  and  meet 
Mr.  Clay  Wimburn.  He  is  one  of  our  risingest  young 
billionaires.  He  will  show  you  what  to  do,  and  where 
to  put  your  signature,  and  you  can  take  the  Lake  Shore 
Limited  home  with  your  pockets  bulging  with  gold. 
Some  change  from  the  last  trip,  eh  dad?" 

Wesley  shook  his  head,  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  lost 
Babes  in  the  Wood.  The  only  familiar  sound  was  the 
name  of  Clay  Wimburn.  That  suggested  something. 

"Clay  Wimburn?  You  don't  tell  me?  And  doing 
well,  eh?  I  suppose  this  will  hurry  up  the  wedding  now — 
eh,  Daphne?" 

422 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

He  chuckled,  and  Daphne  smiled  and  patted  his  back 
as  one  pats  the  backs  of  children  who  ask  embarrassing 
questions.  Daphne  fancied  that  the  wedding  which  had 
been  postponed  by  poverty  would  be  canceled  altogether 
by  too  much  riches. 

Who  was  she  that  Clay  Wimburn,  the  darling  of  fortune, 
should  marry  her?  When  they  had  first  met  and  phi- 
landered he  was  hardly  more  than  a  clerk  and  she  was  a 
Clevelander  of  no  importance. 

Now  he  was  the  escort  of  Mrs.  T.  J.  B.  and  the  crony 
of  Wetherell,  he  was  the  Mowgli  of  other  social  lionesses 
and  of  financial  elephants.  Clay  and  she  had  endured 
too  much  shabbiness  together,  they  had  quarreled,  econo- 
mized, lost  mutual  novelty;  they  had  yawned  together. 

Now  that  Clay  was  accepted  as  the  lost  heir  of  success, 
he  would  seek  for  a  new  love  in  the  new  fields. 

The  proof  of  it  was  that  Clay  never  mentioned  mar- 
riage on  the  few  occasions  when  he  deigned  to  call  on 
Daphne  or  met  her  by  accident. 


CHAPTER  LX 

IT  has  been  divinely  or  otherwise  arranged  that  every 
prosperity  shall  have  its  asperity.     America  had  pro- 
foundly changed  from  a  huddle  of  dazed  and  affrighted 
witnesses  of  carnage  to  a  people  so  busy  with  its  own  con- 
cerns that  it  hardly  cared  how  the  war  news  ran. 

The  bulletin-boards  lost  their  throngs.  The  chronicle 
of  the  German  capture  of  half  a  dozen  Russian  cities 
made  less  impression  than  the  earlier  destruction  of  one 
of  the  fortresses  of  Li6ge.  Many  of  the  newspapers  at 
last  discontinued  their  bulletin-boards.  People  were  un- 
moved by  the  loss  of  ten  thousand  men  in  a  single  day. 

Charities  were  still  wonderfully  supported  and  there 
was  bitter  wrangling  over  the  difficult  and  ambiguous 
loyalty  of  adopted  citizens.  The  hyphenated  Americans 
became  a  dangerous  problem  to  themselves  and  the 
nation.  The  little  word  "hyphen"  and  its  tiny  symbol 
assumed  an  enormous  significance. 

But  nothing  availed  to  check  the  influx  of  war  orders 
or  the  swollen  flood  of  prosperity.  New  York,  the  first 
of  the  cities  to  feel  the  old  hard  times,  was  the  first  to 
respond  to  the  new  good  times.  It  began  to  quiver  with 
the  spirit  of  the  mining-camp  or  the  oil-settlement  when 
a  great  lode  or  a  petroleum  lake  has  been  struck  and 
when  sudden  wealth  is  dangled  within  reach  of  the 
humblest  grubber. 

Not  all  who  clutched  caught ;  not  all  who  caught  prof- 
ited. There  were  bright  Dead  Sea  apples  that  turned  to 
dust  and  much  gold  that  proved  but  crumpling  tinsel. 
But  there  were  multitudes  of  Midases  whose  ass's  ears 
could  not  prevent  their  luck. 

424 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

There  were  legends  of  impossible  fortune ;  but  fact  was 
crazy  enough.  Along  with  this  insanity  of  hope  went  an 
insanity  of  emotion.  Men  grew  fanatic  over  their 
business  and  over  their  recreations. 

Bayard  and  Clay  were  of  those  who  would  take  no 
recreation  lest  some  abrupt  cataclysm  should  suck  back 
into  the  earth  these  rivers  of  wealth. 

"Make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,"  Bayard  would  answer 
the  protesting  Leila.  And  he  made  hay  while  the  moon 
shone,  or  the  stars,  or  the  electric  lights  in  his  office,  or  in 
the  clubs,  or  on  the  trains — anywhere. 

The  novelty  of  being  rich  lost  its  savor  with  Leila, 
and  the  monotony  of  being  neglected  began  to  prey  upon 
her  damask  soul.  She  and  Daphne  forgot  their  mutual 
grievances  for  their  common  grievance. 

"That's  the  trouble  with  these  husbands,"  Leila 
grumbled.  "When  they're  in  bad  luck  you  can't  lose 
'em,  and  when  they're  in  good  you  can't  find  'em." 

"It's  the  same  with  fiances,"  said  Daphne. 

Daphne  had  the  worse  of  it,  for  Leila  began  to  wander 
again,  leaving  Daphne  to  the  society  of  Mrs.  Chiwis, 
who  kept  urging  her  to  invest  her  dwindling  thousand 
before  it  was  gone.  But  in  the  environs  of  noisy  riches 
the  schemes  of  Mrs.  Chiwis  demanded  such  prolonged 
labor  for  such  minute  profit  that  Daphne  remained  cold. 

Leila's  excuses  for  being  abroad,  and  her  explanations 
when  she  came  back,  grew  more  and  more  unsatisfactory. 
Neither  she  nor  Daphne  could  forget  that  it  was  Daphne's 
business  to  remember  that  she  was  Bayard's  sister  and, 
in  a  sense,  his  spy' 

In  her  angrier  revolts  against  Bayard's  neglect  Leila 
sometimes  frankly  confessed  that  she  was  seeing  a  good 
deal  of  Mrs.  T.  J.  B.  and  of  Wetherell.  She  was  dancing 
nearly  every  night  somewhere — and  there  were  so  many 
somewheres. 

She  was  buying  new  costumes  with  her  old  recklessness, 

425 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

and  Bayard  was  glad  to  bribe  her  with  gifts  of  cash  or 
with  hasty  checks  for  bills  that  he  hardly  scanned.  Above 
all  things  he  Wanted  her  to  let  him  alone  for  a  while, 
since  big  anxieties  and  hazards  accompanied  his  big 
profits  or  hopes  of  them. 

Daphne  began  to  resent  Clay's  neglect  morosely.  The 
few  attentions  he  paid  her  only  insulted  her;  his  mind 
was  so  far  away  and  his  heart  was  all  for  his  business. 
He  was  dazzled  by  the  fierce  white  light  of  success,  and 
he  spoke  to  Daphne  in  a  kind  of  drowsy  hypnosis.  And 
he  spoke  incessantly  of  the  details  of  his  business,  or  his 
gamblings.  He  could  not  see  how  deaf  she  was  to  the 
very  vulgar  fractions  of  his  speculations,  or  the  mad 
arithmetic  of  his  commissions.  She  yawned  in  his  face 
when  he  grew  eloquent  on  the  dynamics  of  wealth,  the 
higher  philosophies  of  finance.  And  he  never  knew.  He 
kissed  her  good-by  as  if  he  were  kissing  a  government 
bond,  safe  and  quiet  and  all  his  own. 

Finally,  of  course,  Duane  came  back.  Daphne  rebuffed 
him  several  times,  but  he  grew  more  pathetic  in  his  appeals, 
and  she  yielded  at  length,  more  in  pity  for  him  than  for 
herself.  She  would  not  go  motoring  with  him,  however. 
The  shock  of  that  collision  and  the  grazing  of  death  or 
crippledom  had  destroyed  the  charm  of  the  pastime. 

She  still  lived  with  the  Chiwises.  They  had  been  kind 
to  her  when  she  could  not  pay.  She  felt  that  it  would 
be  villainous  to  desert  them  at  the  first  glimpse  of  ease. 
But  the  reactions  of  money  were  busy.  The  quarters  she 
had  dreaded  to  lose  in  adversity  she  dreaded  to  return 
to  now.  And  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  where  to 
go  or  what  to  do.  Her  womanly  intuition,  which  had 
led  her  wrong  so  often,  insisted  none  the  less  plausibly  that 
this  unnatural  deluge  of  money  could  not  go  on  forever, 
and  that  drought  would  follow  flood  in  the  ancient  rhythm. 

So  she  stayed  on  with  the  Chiwises.  She  received 
Duane  in  the  Chiwises'  living-room.  He  was  entirely 
uncomfortable  there,  but  she  would  not  go  out  with  him. 

426 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

One  day  Mrs.  Chiwis  went  marketing,  and  he  knew  that 
they  were  alone  again.  He  lost  no  time  in  precipitating 
himself  on  Daphne's  mercy. 

"I  want  to  apologize  humbly,  grovelingly,  Miss  Kip, 
for  what  I  said  to  you  that  night  in  the  car.  I  deserved 
to  be  battered  up  worse  than  I  was.  I  told  you  that  I 
loved  you,  and  that  was  true  and  is.  And  I  told  you  I 
wasn't  a  marrying  man,  and  I  wasn't;  and  I'll  never  be 
unless  you'll  marry  me. 

"You've  simply  infected  my  brain  with  misery  for  you. 
I  love  you  so  infernally  much  that  I'd  even  marry  you — 
if  you'll  have  me.  I'd  go  that  far,  honestly!  In  spite  of 
all  I  know  against  matrimony,  I'll  jump  into  it,  if  you'll 
dive  in  with  me." 

She  laughed  at  his  peculiar  flattery  and  shook  her  head. 

He  growled:  "Oh,  I  know  all  about  Wimburn.  But 
he's  married  to  somebody  else." 

"What!"  Daphne  gasped. 

"He's  wedded  to  his  art,  the  fine  art  of  getting  rich. 
And  the  cub  will  do  it.  He's  crazy  drunk  with  the  game, 
and  he's  got  a  run  of  luck  that  nothing  will  stop.  He 
may  go  broke  and  he  may  shoot  up  until  he  out-Schwabs 
Morgan.  But  he's  lost  to  you. 

"You  can  see  he  doesn't  need  you.  And  I  do.  I'm 
dying  for  you,  simply  curling  up  and  dying.  I've  got 
money  enough  for  both  of  us,  and  it's  fixed  so  I  don't 
have  to  worry  about  it.  You  and  I  can  talk  and  think 
of  something  else.  Clay  Wimburn  is  as  anxious  about 
money  as  a  fish  on  land  is  about  air.  He  can't  stop  gulp- 
ing for  it.  But  I'm  not  thinking  of  it,  and  you  oughtn't 
to  be.  I'm  gulping  about  you.  I'm  on  your  hook,  and  I 
wish  you'd  either  throw  me  back  in  the  water  or  kill  me  and 
eat  me.  Will  you?  Please?  For  the  Lord's  sake,  eh?" 

His  extravagance  made  her  smile;  his  adoration  made 
her  glow  with  pride;  but  his  longing  for  her  touched  her 
heart  again  as  before,  only  more  deeply,  since  she  no 
longer  felt  the  restraint  of  a  rival  pity  for  Clay. 

427 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Clay  did  not  need  her  now.  Luck  was  his  poodle-dog 
on  a  string,  following  him  everywhere,  and  not  often  to 
Daphne's  home. 

She  had  learned  from  Clay's  business  talk  why  her 
mother  had  lost  interest  in  her  father's  business  talk. 
She  had  wondered  if  her  own  wedded  life  would  have 
been  of  the  same  sort,  if  Clay  would  have  become  one  of 
those  husbands  who  bring  their  shop  home  with  them 
and  sell  goods  to  their  wives  all  evening. 

Life  with  Duane  offered  every  attraction,  especially 
as  she  knew  nothing  of  the  life  in  his  circle.  She  did  not 
know  what  tediums  a  life  of  leisure  might  hold.  She  had 
the  natural  hankering  to  explore  the  smart  realms  and 
dwell  on  the  plateau  of  aristocracy. 

The  last  word  Duane  could  have  said  was  the  one  he 
proceeded  to  say:  "Will  you  come  to  lunch  with  me 
to-morrow?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Oh,  aren't  we  correct?  But  we  are  not  to  be  alone. 
We  are  to  be  chaperoned  with  the  greatest  severity." 

Daphne  thought  of  Leila's  duenna,  Mrs.  T.  J.  B. 
"Who  is  she?"  she  asked,  with  raillery. 

Duane  answered  with  a  tender  solemnity,  "  My  mother." 

Daphne  had  heard  of  Mrs.  Duane,  had  seen  her  picture 
in  the  magazines,  her  white  hair  like  an  ermine  royalty 
upon  her  beautiful  head. 

Duane  went  on:  "I've  told  her  how  wonderful  you  are, 
and  she  doesn't  believe  me.  I  dared  her  to  lunch  with 
you.  She  accepted.  I  dare  you  to  lunch  with  her. 
Will  you?" 

"I  never  take  a  dare,"  said  Daphne,  trying  to  keep 
from  shrieking  with  joy  at  her  flight  upward  on  the  social 
rocket.  "Yes,  of  course!  Certainly!" 

"Till  to-morrow  then!  good-by,"  said  Duane,  and 
squeezed  her  hand  hard.  And  she  responded  with  a 
pressure  invigorated  by  her  gratitude  for  a  delicate  at- 
tention. 

428 


CHAPTER  LXI 

ALL  afternoon  Daphne  went  singing.  She  was  to 
meet  the  great,  the  ancient  of  birth,  people  whose 
grandfathers  had  had  money  and  bequeathed  it. 

She  had  no  mania  for  social  advancement,  yet  she  was 
not  abnormally  unwilling  to  meet  the  high-fashioned. 
She  had  known  Duane,  of  course,  for  some  time;  but 
then  aristocratic  men  make  friends  with  women  of  all 
grades.  There  is  no  prestige  for  a  woman  in  knowing 
a  male  swell.  There  may  be  a  distinct  loss  of  prestige 
in  it.  Prestige  for  women  comes  from  the  women  they 
know.  Now  she  was  to  know  Mrs.  Duane. 

Daphne  felt  that  she  must  not  underdress  the  occasion. 
She  must  "show"  Duane's  mother! 

This  was  her  coming-in  party.  She  went  through  her 
wardrobe,  and  it  was  hopeless.  She  had  not  a  gown  that 
would  not  condemn  her  to  the  contempt  of  the  very 
waiters.  She  must  break  into  that  beautiful  thousand- 
dollar  bank  account.  She  thought  of  Dutilh.  He  would 
have  beautiful  things,  divine  novelties.  She  went  to 
him. 

He  hailed  her  with  familiarity  that  shocked  her.  "Hello ! 
Come  to  get  that  job?  Well,  I  need  you  this  very  min- 
ute." 

Daphne  flushed.  She  hated  to  think  that  she  had  ever 
been  poor  and  had  asked  for  a  job  as  a  model.  She  an- 
swered a  bit  snappishly.  "No,  indeed!  I've  come  to 
buy  the  prettiest  frock  you  have.  And  I'll  pay  cash 
for  it." 

"My  God!"  Dutilh  cried.  "Have  you  gone  wrong, 
429 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

too?"  The  look  of  amazed  horror  on  Daphne's  face 
showed  him  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  "  Pardon  me!" 
he  exclaimed.  "What's  come  over  this  town?  There's 
no  talking  to  'em.  They're  paying  bills  and  offering 
cash.  They'll  drive  me  out  of  business  at  this  rate. 
Well,  I'll  sell  you  a  gown,  but  I  won't  let  you  pay  cash 
for  it." 

Daphne  flushed  again.  She  realized  that  she  had  been 
a  trifle  crass  in  flaunting  her  cash.  It  would  be  more 
swagger  to  start  an  account.  And  now  she  was  in  Dutilh's 
power.  She  made  a  last  effort  to  impress  him. 

"I  must  have  the  gown  at  once,  as  I  am  lunching  with 
Mrs.  Barclay  Duane  to-morrow." 

This  did  not  seem  to  overpower  Dutilh.  He  was  study- 
ing Daphne  between  interlocked  eyelashes.  He  walked 
round  her  as  if  she  were  a  horse  for  sale.  Daphne  became 
burningly  self-conscious. 

"Want  to  see  my  teeth  and  my  left  fore  foot?"  she 
demanded. 

Dutilh  did  not  answer.  He  was  placing  her  among 
imaginary  colors  and  fabrics.  At  length  he  nodded.  "I 
think  I've  got  just  the  thing  for  you,  my  dear.  You're 
lunching  with  Mrs.  Duane,  you  said.  I  know  just  what 
she  likes.  If  she  doesn't  rave  over  it,  tell  her  I  made  it 
and  she  will." 

He  went  away,  and  soon  a  gown  was  walked  in,  a  gown 
that  made  Daphne  almost  swoon  with  satisfaction.  It 
was  the  very  textile  of  her  soul  woven  and  dyed.  She 
hated  the  model  who  wore  it  for  desecrating  it  with  her 
embodiment.  She  could  hardly  wait  to  get  into  it  her- 
self. Once  inside,  it  confirmed  her  dreams.  The  creature 
she  saw  in  the  mirror  was  just  what  she  wanted  to  be. 
It  took  all  her  self-control  to  permit  a  few  revisions.  She 
could  hardly  bear  to  denude  herself  of  that  integument 
long  enough  to  have  some  of  the  bastings  affirmed.  She 
went  home  in  a  swirl. 

That  night  Bayard  was  detained  by  a  meeting.  Leila 

430 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

had  a  dinner  engagement  out.  When  Daphne  asked  if 
it  were  with  Wetherell,  Leila  drew  down  her  eyelids  like 
mysterious  blinds. 

The  Chiwises  went  out,  too.  It  was  prayer-meeting 
night  at  their  church.  They  had  taken  up  their  religion 
with  new  fervor  since  the  war  had  answered  their  prayers 
for  a  little  money. 

Daphne  was  left  alone.  But  she  was  not  lonely  after 
that  absolute  gown  arrived. 

She  put  it  on  and  promenaded  and  posed  and  tried  to 
look  down  over  her  shoulders.  She  was  practising  siren 
attitudes  on  an  imaginary  Duane,  and  experimenting  for 
expressions  to  try  on  his  mother.  She  would  play  grande 
demoiselle  to  that  grande  dame. 

And  then  Clay  Wimburn  telephoned.  In  pique  she  was 
about  to  plead  another  engagement.  But  she  felt  that 
she  would  like  to  have  him  see  her  in  that  gown.  She 
would  like  to  tell  him  that  she  was  lunching  with  a  nobler 
and  a  better  woman  than  his  Mrs.  T.  J.  B.  So  she  had 
him  up. 


CHAPTER  LXII 

DAPHNE  had  known  several  Clay  Wimburns  since 
the  first  one  came  to  Cleveland.  She  had  hardly 
met  the  latest  edition  of  him. 

He  was  a  very  tired  young  man  these  days.  Some 
people  said  his  head  was  turned;  but  it  was  merely  heavy. 
He  was  fatigued  with  power  and  the  weight  of  success. 
He  was  a  squire  suddenly  knighted  and  clamped  in  pon- 
derous armor  and  sent  into  battle.  He  had  wielded  the 
two-handed  sword  and  taken  heavy  blows  on  his  skull- 
piece.  He  had  fought  long  duels  with  money  giants,  and 
he  was  very,  very  tired.  And  yet  he  was  tired  with  vic- 
tory, and  his  sweat  was  profitable. 

He  had  reason  to  be  proud.  He  had  brought  wealth 
to  Bayard  and  to  Bayard's  father,  and  to  many  people 
who  had  done  him  little  kindnesses.  He  had  made  his 
janitor  and  his  laundress  comfortable  for  life.  He  had 
set  the  smoke  to  curling  from  long-empty  chimneys.  He 
had  mobilized  armies  of  laborers,  and  rilled  countless 
dinner-pails.  Yet  he  had  been,  as  any  other  general  is, 
the  prisoner  of  the  army  he  led. 

He  had  thought  constantly  of  Daphne,  and  planned  to 
spend  a  great  deal  of  time  with  her — when  he  could  get 
a  little.  But  he  had  seemed  to  be  able  to  capture  any- 
thing he  wanted  except  leisure.  How  could  he  devote 
an  evening  to  sweethearting  when  he  was  implored  to 
spend  it  at  the  Bankers'  Club  with  a  group  of  almost 
kneeling  plutocrats? 

If  ever  he  had  an  evening  free  his  fatigue  would  fall 
upon  him  like  a  thousand  of  brick  and  he  would  sleep 

432 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

druggedly,  sometimes  on  a  club  divan,  sometimes  at 
his  own  office  with  his  shoes  and  collar  on. 

He  had  the  market  to  watch  as  well.  His  first  com- 
missions he  devoted  to  speculation.  Bethlehem  Steel  had 
been  as  low  as  18.  Clay  got  aboard  at  30  with  a  thousand 
dollars.  He  bought  outright,  and  his  twenty-three  shares 
went  on  up  and  up,  and  down  and  up,  till  eventually  they 
reached  459,  when  he  became  alarmed  at  their  wild  gyra- 
tions and  sold  them  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars. 

With  the  second  thousand  dollars  he  bought  on  margin. 
He  chose  Electric  Boat  at  13,  and  pyramided  as  it  rose. 
Eventually  he  "cleaned  up"  with  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  Some  of  his  ventures  lost  him  money  in  sums 
that  would  have  crushed  him  with  debt  for  years  under 
his  ordinary  conditions.  But  now  he  smiled  and  forgot. 

Other  men  grew  richer  than  he;  men  of  larger  capital 
or  better  information  heaped  up  millions.  Men  who 
guessed  wrong  were  wrecked  for  life,  or  for  a  week,  ac- 
cording to  their  souls.  One  unlucky  acquaintance  of 
Clay's  had  been  advised  to  put  his  lifelong  savings  into 
selling  Bethlehem  Steel  short — guided,  perhaps,  by  a  rumor 
that  the  factory  was  to  be  blown  up,  or  stopped  by  a 
strike.  He  left  town  for  a  few  days  and  his  brokers 
could  not  find  him.  He  returned  to  be  told  that  his 
funds  had  been  wiped  out  and  in  place  of  them  he  had 
a  debt  of  ninety  thousand  dollars  to  carry  while  he  watched 
others  fatten  on  the  stock  that  had  been  his  poison. 

These  were  times  that  made  the  "roaring  forties"  of 
the  California  gold  fever  look  tame,  as  the  battles  in 
Europe  made  Gettysburg  seem  but  a  reconnoissance  in 
force. 

The  most  gorgeous  color  in  the  fabric  of  Clay's  dreams 
was  his  future  life  with  Daphne  as  Mrs.  Wimburn.  But 
he  kept  setting  forward  the  day  when  he  should  lead 
her  to  the  high  peak  of  his  wealth  and  tell  her  that  all  she 
saw  or  wished  was  hers.  He  kept  enlarging  the  amount 
that  should  be  enough.  And  this  was  from  love  of  her. 

433 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

While  he  seemed  to  be  neglecting  her,  she  was  growing 
more  precious  in  his  esteem. 

Sometimes  in  passing  a  jeweler's  window  he  would  blush 
to  remember  the  little  engagement-ring  he  had  bought  ir. 
Cleveland,  and  had  had  to  return  for  lack  of  funds  to 
complete  the  purchase.  He  would  plan  to  recoup  Daphne 
with  a  blinding  substitute,  and  throw  in  a  dog-collar  of 
diamonds  or  a  string  of  perfectly  matched  pearls  for  good 
measure. 

He  would  enter  the  shop  and  price  the  mystic  heap  of 
fire-snow,  and  if  it  were  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  he 
would  think  it  not  quite  enough,  or  a  little  too  much, 
according  to  the  prosperity  of  the  day.  Sometimes  when 
the  market  was  most  headlong  in  its  rush  he  would  decide 
that  it  would  be  better  to  invest  the  cost  of  the  gems  in 
some  stock.  Sometimes  he  would  actually  "take  a 
flyer"  in  Daphne's  name.  If  he  lost  he  pocketed  the  loss, 
and  if  he  guessed  right  he  would  put  the  money  aside. 
And  so  always  on  the  point  of  renewing  his  troth,  he 
never  did.  He  was  like  a  gold-miner  who  lingers  for  just 
one  more  nugget  before  he  turns  homeward.  Sometimes 
that  miner  never  does  get  home. 

Clay  had  not  told  Bayard  of  his  contracts  till  he  had 
them  nailed.  So  now  he  did  not  visit  Daphne  till  he  was 
secure.  He  wanted  to  astound  her  with  the  splendor 
of  his  tribute.  When  he  met  her  he  had  kept  silent 
about  it,  though  often  he  could  hardly  keep  from  chuckling 
aloud  at  the  sensation  he  was  working  up  in  secret. 

Daphne's  pride  kept  her  from  showing  how  hurt  she 
was.  She  treated  him  with  all  the  more  gaiety,  so  that 
he  should  not  suspect  her  dismay  and  her  humiliation. 
And  he,  the  golden  fool,  never  noticed. 

To-night,  however,  he  came  to  her  with  his  plans  per- 
fected. When  she  opened  the  door  for  him  with  a  formal 
bow  he  did  not  notice  her  new  dress  nor  her  stately 
frigidity. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  with  such  ardor  that  he 

434 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

frightened  her.  He  had  grown  something  of  a  stranger. 
His  clasp  and  his  rudely  proprietary  kiss  shocked  her. 
He  did  not  even  notice  that. 

He  began  rhapsodically :  "Well,  honey,  I've  got  some- 
where at  last.  I  made  a  killing  to-day  and  I've  brought 
home  the  bacon.  I've  got  a  couple  of  bank-books  here, 
and  when  you  see  them  you'll  drop  dead. 

"If  the  good  time  had  been  a  day  later  I  think  I'd 
have  dropped  dead  myself.  For  I  couldn't  have  stood 
any  more  work,  and  I  couldn't  have  stayed  away  from 
you  a  minute  longer.  I  had  to  stick  to  the  job,  though, 
till  I  won  out.  There  hasn't  been  a  day  when  I  dast 
let  go.  And  I  didn't  want  to  come  to  you  while  there 
was  any  chance  of  failure. 

"Honey  love,  I'm  a  rich  man  and  you're  a  rich  lady. 
I've  just  put  aside  a  big  chunk  for  you.  Time  and  time 
again  I've  stood  in  front  of  jewelers'  windows  and  planned 
to  buy  you  a  bit  of  rock ;  but  I  said :  '  No,  not  yet.  Invest 
it  for  her.'  And  I  did. 

"I've  kept  account  of  what  was  yours  and  what  it 
won,  and  now  you  can  buy  the  gorgeousest  trousseau 
that  was  ever  troussed.  And  I  want  you  to.  And  as 
soon  as  it's  ready,  I  am.  And  there's  the  proof!" 

He  seized  her  hand  in  his  and  kissed  it  and  slid  some- 
thing on  her  ring  finger  and  held  it  before  her  eyes,  and 
said:  "How  is  that  for  high?  Pretty  bad,  eh?  If  you 
don't  like  it  you  can  exchange  it  for  another." 

Daphne  looked  down  at  her  hand  and  saw  the  won- 
der of  a  huge  diamond  among  a  blur  of  lesser  diamonds. 
It  was  as  if  a  drop  of  dew,  vast  for  a  dewdrop,  had  formed 
upon  her  finger  and  a  spider  had  fastened  it  there  with  a 
mesh  of  platinum  gossamers.  It  was  so  beautiful  that 
it  brought  diamonds  to  her  own  eyes. 

She  caught  it  in  her  other  hand  with  a  little  gasp  of 
awe.  It  was  so  big  that  it  would  have  been  vulgar  if  it 
had  been  more  than  a  sublime  distillation  of  water, 
living,  shivering,  light-splintering  water. 

435 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  could  not  speak,  but  Clay  was  garrulous. 

"It's  a  little  better  than  the  old  one,  eh — the  old  one 
that  I  couldn't  pay  for?  Golly!  but  times  have  changed! 
I  had  to  return  our  first  ring  because  I  couldn't  finish  the 
two-hundred-dollar-payment.  I  tossed  a  two-thousand- 
dollar  check  across  Tiffany's  counter  for  that  and  never 
blinked.  Excuse  me.  I  didn't  mean  to  put  a  price-tag  on 
it;  but  I'm  kind  of  crazy  with  joy. 

"And  now  we're  going  to  get  married,  aren't  we? 
And  no  more  foolishness  about  your  waiting  till  you  can 
buy  your  own  trousseau,  .eh?  It  was  sweet  foolishness, 
but  we  won't  have  any  more  of  it,  will  we?" 

She  felt  another  little  stab,  but  not  now  of  jewel-lust; 
now  it  was  a  stab  of  remorse.  Clay  had  unwittingly  re- 
called the  old  troop  of  ideals  that  had  inspired  her,  and 
had  given  her  pride  to  face  the  world  and  to  fit  herself 
to  be  her  man's  mate,  instead  of  his  plaything  or  his 
burden.  But  he  was  reveling  on. 

"The  poor  little  thing!  She  has  gone  through  so 
much,  given  up  so  much!  She  has  lived  in  rags,  in  this 
miserable  shack!  And  she  went  about  hunting  for  jobs 
at  six  dollars  a  week !  But  that's  all  over.  No  more  work 
for  my  Daphne.  You'll  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine 
seam,  and  I'll  feed  you  on  strawberries,  sugar,  and  cream. 
Eh?  Isn't  that  so?  Why  don't  you  say  Yes?  Huh? 
Why  don't  you  say  Yes?" 

Daphne  was  wretched  in  every  thought.  To  quench 
his  spirit  in  its  ecstasy  was  odious.  And  yet  it  seemed 
more  odious  to  accept  his  generosity  and  give  nothing 
for  it  but  greed.  She  wanted  fiercely  to  bring  her  hus- 
band something  more  than  an  appetite  and  an  expense. 

To  put  away  the  little  two-hundred-dollar  diamond 
had  not  been  easy.  To  put  away  the  larger  gem  was  ten 
times  as  hard.  But  what  was  she  worth  if  she  could 
resist  a  small  bribe  only  to  be  bought  with  a  big  one;  to 
be  superior  to  gold,  but  inferior  to  platinum? 

Clay  was  pacing  the  floor  recounting  his  financial  ad- 

436 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

ventures  with  such  eloquence  that  he  did  not  realize  how 
still  she  was,  or  how  far  away,  or  how  busy  her  brain. 
When  at  last  he  reached  the  end  of  his  peroration  and 
turned  to  her  for  applause,  he  found  her  pretty  features 
all  askew;  her  eyes  were  crinkled  and  wet,  and  her  chin 
crumpled,  and  her  lips  like  a  child's  about  to  bawl. 

She  was  dragging  the  stubborn  ring  from  her  ringer 
and  blubbering:  "Take  it  back,  please.  I  can't  wear  it. 
I  just  can't." 

Clay  came  down  to  earth  with  such  a  thump  as  Icarus 
made  when  the  wax  melted  from  his  wings.  He  stared 
at  Daphne  with  neither  understanding  nor  sympathy, 
set  his  jaw  hard,  put  his  palm  forth,  accepted  the  ring  as 
a  sort  of  ironical  tip,  tossed  it  up  and  caught  it  two  or 
three  times,  shoved  it  in  his  pocket,  yawned  "Ho-hum," 
shoved  his  head  into  his  hat,  his  arms  into  his  overcoat, 
and  let  himself  out  in  a  silence  that  would  have  been 
perfect  if  the  spring  lock  had  not  snapped  with  a  vicious 
click. 


CHAPTER  LXIII 

WHEN  Tom  Duane  told  Daphne  that  he  had  dared 
his  mother  to  lunch  with  her,  and  his  mother 
had  accepted,  he  was  not  exactly  a  liar.  His  phrase, 
"I  dared  her  to  lunch  with  you,"  was  a  kind  of  typo- 
graphical error  for  "I  shall  have  dared,  etc."  He  was 
simply  mixing  his  tenses  and  expressing  the  future  per- 
fect in  the  preterit. 

It  was  no  cold-blooded  and  deliberate  murder  of  the 
truth.  It  was  a  warm-blooded  improvisation.  He  wanted 
to  have  Daphne  to  lunch,  and,  seeing  that  she  was  afraid 
to  be  alone  with  him  in  a  crowd,  he  dragged  his  mother 
in  as  a  delicate  proof  of  his  good  intentions.  And  his 
intentions  were  thoroughly  good  now. 

Having  failed  to  succeed  with  bad  intentions,  he  had 
turned  traitor  to  evil  and  deserted  to  virtue.  Anything 
to  succeed  in  getting  Daphne.  His  first  problem  was  to 
find  his  mother;  his  second,  to  persuade  her  to  play  the 
part  he  had  written  for  her.  He  spent  several  hours 
searching  for  her.  She  was  always  as  busy  as  a  popular 
debutante,  though  in  some  civilizations  she  would  have 
been  an  old  crone  debuting  into  her  second  childhood. 

Duane  called  at  her  home  and  found  that  she  was  out. 
Her  old  butler  told  him  a  dozen  places  she  might  be; 
she  might  be  knitting  scarfs  for  Belgian  soldiers  or  study- 
ing skating,  or  attending  a  council  of  the  state  board  of 
suffrage  huntresses,  or  a  Philharmonic  concert,  or  an 
auction  bridge,  or  a  committee  on  relief  for  the  Polish 
victims  of  the  war. 

Duane  could  not  find  her  anywhere,  While  he  was  fol- 
438 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

lowing  a  blind  trail,  she  got  into  the  house  and  out  of  her 
afternoon  gown  and  into  her  night  gown  and  out  of  the 
house  again. 

When  Duane  harked  back  to  her  home  just  too  late 
the  butler  could  not  remember  whether  she  had  said  she 
was  going  to  "  Gotterdammerung "  or  the  "Follies  of 
1915,"  but  he  felt  sure  that  he  had  over'eard  her  allude 
to  going  to  "The  Castles  in  the  Air"  afterward. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  gone  to  a  meeting  of  the 
Drama  League  at  the  MacDowell  Club — a  league  devoted 
to  the  altruistic  ideal  of  whipping  in  audiences  to  the 
worthier  plays,  which  would  naturally  not  draw  them 
without  outside  help. 

It  was  beyond  midnight  when  Duane  finally  ran  his 
mother  to  ground  on  the  roof  garden  where  she  was 
having  a  joyous  time.  She  was  still  breathing  a  little 
hard  after  a  fox-trot  with  a  fat  railroad  president,  and 
they  were  watching  a  Russian  dancer  posture  in  minimized 
Greek  costume  under  a  very  searching  search-light.  The 
dancer  was  blowing  inaudible  tunes  on  a  gilded  imitation 
of  an  ancient  flute.  She  held  it  at  some  distance  from 
her  professional  smile,  but  that  made  no  difference,  as 
the  flute  had  no  holes  in  it,  anyway. 

Duane  regarded  his  venerable  parent  with  tolerant 
amusement,  then  walking  up  to  her,  took  her  by  as  much 
of  the  lobe  of  her  ear  as  was  not  occupied  by  a  huge 
baroque  pearl.  He  said: 

"Come  home,  young  woman,  and  all  will  be  forgiven. 
You're  too  young  for  this  sort  of  thing." 

His  mother  slapped  his  hand  away  and  said:  "Hello, 
Tommy !  Sit  down  till  this  creature  gets  tired,  and  have 
a  fox-trot  with  your  poor  old  mother." 

"No,  you  don't!"  Duane  remonstrated.  "You  can't 
lead  me  into  your  evil  ways.  I've  been  hunting  for  you 
all  over  town,  singing,  'Oh,  Where  is  My  Wandering  Ma 
To-night?'  And  now  I'll  take  you  back  while  the  light 
still  burns  in  the  window." 

439 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

But  she  would  not  be  redeemed  till  she  had  finished  her 
highball  and  had  a  dance  with  her  son. 

"You  know  you  dance  disgracefully  well,  young 
woman,"  he  said,  as  they  skipped  and  gamboled. 

"You  don't  have  to  flirt  with  me,"  she  retorted. 

At  length  she  let  him  lead  her  to  her  humble  limousine. 
She  pushed  the  button  that  put  out  the  ceiling  lamp, 
and,  taking  up  an  electric  cigar-lighter  with  an  abestos 
glow,  gave  him  fire  for  the  cigarette  she  gave  him  and 
took  one  for  herself  from  her  case. 

Her  great-grandmother  had  smoked  a  pipe,  and  been  ac- 
counted a  senile,  old,  toothless  dotard  at  Mrs.  Duane's 
age  (which — whisper — was  sixty).  Mrs.  Duane  was  her- 
self a  great-grandmother,  since  her  eldest  daughter's  eldest 
daughter  had  married  and  mothered  at  eighteen.  When 
Duane  said,  "You're  looking  great  to-night,  mummsy," 
she  sighed,  "A  great-grandmother!"  Then  she  went  on: 
"  I've  always  been  thankful  to  you,  Tom,  for  not  marrying 
and  adding  a  gang  of  grandchildren  to  my  troubles.  You 
never  had  much  sense  about  other  things,  but  you've  kept 
out  of  the  clutches  of  women — and  children.  But  what's 
on  your  mind?" 

"I'm  giving  a  luncheon  to-morrow,  and  you're  It." 

"To-morrow!     Not  a  chance!" 

"You've  got  to  be  there." 

"Sorry.     I'm  having  some  people  in." 

"Throw  'em  out." 

"Can't." 

"Must." 

"Not  this  time,  honey!  Besides,  any  luncheon  you'd 
invite  me  to  would  be  too  tame  for  me  to  live  through." 

"Wait  till  you  see  her." 

"Her?  Oh  Lord,  Tom,  you're  not  going  to  do  anything 
rash,  are  you?" 

"Whaddya  mean,  rash?" 

"You'd  never  invite  me  to  meet  a  girl  unless  you 
wanted  me  to  look  her  over  with  a  view  to  adoption." 

440 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Well,  maybe  not.  Better  have  a  peek  at  her  before 
it's  too  late.  She's  a  pippin." 

"Leave  her  in  the  basket,  or  leave  me  out  of  it." 

"No,  old  girl,  no!     I  need  you  in  my  business." 

' '  What's  her  name  ?     Do  I  know  her  ?" 

"Kip/' 

"Kip?  Isn't  that  the  name  of  the  girl  you  rushed  so 
hard  a  year  ago?" 

"No,  that's  the  name  of  the  feller  she  married.  This 
is  his  sister." 

"Funny  kind  of  taste  you  have.  Well,  where  does  she 
come  from?  What  is  she?" 

"From  Cleveland.     She's  a  little  dream!" 

"Oh,  Tom,  wake  up!" 

"This  is  serious." 

"You  were  hit  pretty  hard  by  that  other  girl — Leila, 
wasn't  it?  She  hit  you  pretty  hard,  didn't  she?" 

"Not  half  so  hard  as  she  hit  Bayard  Kip  when 
he  married  her.  He  saved  my  life  and  lost  his 
own." 

"You  were  head  over  heels  in  love  with  her." 

"Over  heels,  but  not  over  head.  I  was  just  about  chin 
deep.  I've  never  fallen  in  deeper  than  my  wisdom 
teeth  till  now." 

"You  thought  that  before.  You'll  think  so  when  the 
next  girl  comes  along." 

"This  girl's  different.     She's  the  real  thing." 

"We're  all  alike,  Tom." 

"Daphne  Kip  isn't  alike.  The  rest  of  you  are  all 
grafters,  pleasure-hunters,  loafers." 

"Thanks!" 

"Oh,  you! — you're  the  worst  I  ever  saw.  But  Daphne 
wants  to  work." 

"Great  heavens,  Tom,  you  haven't  turned  miser,  have 
you?  You  have  money  enough  to  keep  any  woman 
better  than  she  deserves." 

"Yes,  but — well,  it's  hard  to  put  it  the  way  I  feel  it; 

441 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

but — you  see,  I  don't  believe  I  could  ever  love  the  aver- 
age woman — at  least,  not  marrying  love." 

"What  are  you  afraid  of  in  women?" 

"The  fact  that  they  are  women." 

"You're  afraid  she  wouldn't  be  faithful  to  you?" 

"Lord,  no!" 

"That  you  couldn't  be  to  her?" 

"Oh,  I'd  play  fair,  all  right.  I  think  the  vast  majority 
of  husbands  are  faithful.  If  they  slip,  it's  only  a  stumble. 
The  seventh  is  a  much  overrated  commandment.  I  don't 
believe  it  causes  a  tenth  of  the  wreckage  it's  credited  with, 
and  it  doesn't  usually  get  broken  at  all  till  after  the  real 
trouble  has  started.  What  I'm  afraid  of  is  the  old  money 
microbe.  Most  family  quarrels  are  about  cash.  I  can't 
endure  a  haggling  match — and  with  a  wife !  Whew !  If  I 
married  a  woman  and  I  found  out  she  was  just  using  me 
for  a  pocketbook,  I'd  throw  my  money  in  her  face  and 
quit  her  cold." 

"Pick  out  one  with  a  fortune  of  her  own.  Let  me 
arrange  the  business  part  of  it.  There  are  just  as  nice 
girls  with  money  as  without." 

"Undoubtedly,  but  I  don't  happen  to  want  any  of  'em. 
I've  made  my  choice." 

"Is  this  working-girl  of  yours  to  go  on  working  after 
she's  married?" 

"Of  course  not.  I  don't  begrudge  her  all  I've  got. 
I  love  to  give,  but  I  hate  like  the  very  old  devil  to  be 
sponged  on." 

"But  what  makes  you  think  that  this  girl  won't  settle 
down  and  graft  like  the  rest  of  us?" 

"Why,  she  has  ideas.  She  was  engaged  to  another 
feller,  and  she  came  East  to  buy  her  trousseau,  and  got  so 
sick  of  taking  her  father's  money  that  she  vowed  she'd 
not  marry  till  she  could  pay  for  her  own  trousseau. 
That  made  Mr.  Fiance  mad  and  they  quarreled.  Then 
I  got  her  a  job  with  Reben." 

"Good  Lord!  an  actress!" 
442 


"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Reben  said  she  couldn't  act  enough 
to  keep  herself  warm.  She  was  the  most  adorable  failure 
that  ever  lived.  Then  she  tried  other  jobs  and  I — I've 
seen  quite  a  lot  of  her,  and  I'm  daffy  about  her." 

"And  is  she  daffy  about  you?" 

"No;  that's  the  worst  of  it.  She  refused  to  lunch  with 
me,  so  I  invited  you,  and  then  she  said  she  would." 

"Very  interesting,"  Mrs.  Duane  yawned.  "I'm  sorry 
I  can't  oblige  you  both." 

"You  can!    You're  going  to." 

"But  I  have  people  invited,  important  people." 

"They  can't  be  half  as  important  to  you  as  I  am,  and 
I  need  you.  You  never  fell  down  yet  when  I  needed  you." 

"You  blarneyer!    Well,  I'll  see." 

Duane  had  learned  from  childhood  that  his  mother's 
"I'll  see"  was  always  as  good  as  her  bond.  So  he  helped 
her  into  the  house  and  kissed  her  warmly  and  said: 

"You're  the  best  feller  that  ever  was." 


CHAPTER  LXIV 

r"PHE  next  day  Mrs.  Duane  was  at  Delmonico's,  and  on 
1  time.  Daphne  was  not.  She  was  late.  Her  taxi- 
cab  had  been  caught  in  the  cold  molasses  of  Fifth  Avenue 
traffic.  Also  the  Dutilh  costume  had  required  a  deal  of 
study.  Leila  had  helped  her  into  it,  and  praised  her  for  it. 
Leila  had  even  reached  the  generous  height  of  hoping  that 
she  might  capture  Tom  Duane. 

"Grab  Tom  Duane  if  you  can,"  said  Leila.  "I  was  a 
fool  not  to  take  him  myself.  He  has  money,  and  always 
had  it.  Clay  is  just  getting  his.  He's  as  crazy  as  Bayard. 
You'll  always  have  to  run  second  with  Clay,  as  I  do 
with  Bayard.  But  with  Duane  you'll  be  first;  or  if  you 
have  a  rival,  it  will  be  a  woman  and  not  a  bank  account. 
You  can  be  jealous  of  something  human.  Go  in  and 
win." 

Daphne,  on  the  way  down,  had  a  curious  feeling  that 
Leila's  liberality  in  presenting  her  with  Duane  was 
based  on  her  interest  in  Wetherell.  It  was  a  hateful 
thought,  but  it  stuck  as  it  slid  into  her  mind. 

And,  perversely,  she  liked  Clay  a  little  more  and  Duane 
a  little  less  for  Leila's  dispraisal  of  the  one  and  recom- 
mendation of  the  other.  But  she  thought  chiefly  of 
Mrs.  Duane.  She  could  see  by  a  public  clock  that  she 
was  already  late,  and  the  long  halts  of  the  taxicab  as  the 
mob  of  cars  oozed  down  the  Avenue  drove  her  frantic. 

At  last  the  cab  turned  round  the  patient  old  gentleman 
who  turned  the  "Go"  and  "Stop"  semaphore  at  Forty- 
fourth  Street.  Daphne  leaped  from  the  cab,  handed  the 
driver  the  exact  fare  as  a  protest  against  his  tardiness,  and 
fled  up  the  steps. 

444 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  found  Duane  seated  on  a  divan  with  a  brilliant, 
perfectly  gowned  woman  whose  fleecy-white  hair  was  like 
a  nun's  coif  about  a  very  secular  face. 

Duane  rushed  forward  to  greet  Daphne  and  present  her. 
Mrs.  Duane  gave  her  a  cordial  hand-clasp,  smiling  at 
Daphne's  panting  apology: 

"I'm  unutterably  ashamed  to  be  so  late.  You'll  never 
forgive  me." 

"I'm  obliged  to  you  for  a  little  chat  with  my  son.  I 
don't  often  get  as  many  words  with  him." 

Daphne  felt  that  she  was  in  the  presence  of  tact  in- 
spired by  kindliness.  Mrs.  Duane  had  indeed  been 
dealt  with  kindly  by  life  and  she  passed  the  influence 
along. 

As  the  two  women  studied  each  other  in  mutual  anxiety 
Daphne  felt  that  Mrs.  Duane  was  one  who  had  always 
worn  good  clothes,  eaten  excellent  food  well  served,  and 
sipped  wines  of  the  best  vintages. 

Mrs.  Duane  guessed  Daphne  as  one  who  had  most  of 
life  to  learn,  but  approached  it  with  eagerness  to  get  the 
best  of  it,  yet  without  a  feeling  that  the  world  owed  her 
its  superlative  luxuries  and  that  anything  less  was  robbery. 

Mrs.  Duane  could  be  merciless  in  rebuffing  those  who 
tried  to  push  into  her  society  or  demanded  what  they 
could  not  win  by  their  personal  charm.  She  could  not 
see  why  a  woman  of  social  altitude  should  be  called  a  snob 
because  she  did  not  open  her  heart  to  every  outsider  who 
claimed  her  time  and  attention.  She  kept  a  home,  not 
a  hotel.  She  asked  no  more  than  the  smallest  town's 
smallest  woman  asks:  the  privilege  of  choosing  her  own 
intimates.  She  exercised  that  privilege  with  a  kind  of 
shy  sincerity  that  social  stragglers  misnamed  conceit. 
The  barriers  she  drew  about  herself  were  like  the  walls 
about  her  garden,  meant  only  to  keep  priers  and  peerers 
from  ruining  the  coziness  within. 

There  is  no  more  variety  in  the  middle  class  or  the 
farmer  class  than  in  the  species  labeled  by  the  awkward 

445 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

phrase  "the  New  York  society  woman."  People  who 
do  not  know  any  or  many  of  her  seem  to  think  she  is  all 
alike.  But  she  includes  every  imaginable  kind  of  soul 
from  vicious  youth  and  age  to  saintly  youth  and  age. 
Some  of  the  New  York  society  women  know  more  about 
farming  than  some  of  the  farmer's  wives.  Mrs.  Duane 
did.  Some  of  them  are  hospitable,  approachable,  demo- 
cratic, simple,  sane — and  some  of  them  not.  Generaliza- 
tion is  prevarication.  It  is  hardly  safe  to  say  more  than 
that  each  of  us  likes  what  (s)he  likes,  dislikes  what  (s)he 
dislikes,  and  is  more  or  less  frank  about  it. 

Mrs.  Duane  studied  Miss  Kip  with  almost  more  em- 
barrassment than  Daphne  her,  and  with  perhaps  more  fear ; 
for  if  Daphne  was  on  trial  as  a  candidate  for  social  pro- 
motion, Mrs.  Duane  was  on  trial  as  a  mother-in-law.  - 

Her  mother  eyes  saw  the  adoration  in  her  son's  manner 
toward  Daphne.  She  saw  how  he  hung  back  to  pilot 
Daphne  through  the  tables  in  the  wake  of  the  head  waiter. 
He  quite  neglected  his  mother.  There  was  a  symbol 
and  an  emphasis  in  this  that  did  not  escape  Mrs.  Duane. 
She  took  it  with  good  sportsmanship.  She  even  compli- 
mented her  successful  rival  and  told  her  son  that  he  had 
not  overpraised  her. 

The  relations  between  her  and  her  son  were  so  comradely 
that  Daphne  was  surprised.  She  was  strangely  touched  to 
hear  him  call  her  "mother."  It  would  be  hard  to  say 
just  what  Daphne  expected  him  to  call  her,  or  what 
reciprocal  emotion  she  expected  to  find  between  them. 

Her  reading  had  doubtless  given  her  a  common  im- 
pression that  mother-love  and  filial  piety  are  emotions  too 
lowly  for  the  upper  classes — as  if  the  details  of  doing  one's 
own  housework  or  having  it  done,  or  having  one  servant 
or  two  or  a  hundred,  of  spending  one  dollar  or  nine  or  a 
million,  could  work  any  vital  alteration  in  the  primeval 
instincts  and  inheritances  of  souls. 

Duane,  as  usual,  ordered  the  luncheon  without  asking 
his  guests  any  questions.  He  was  rich  enough  to  order  a 

446 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

sensible  meal.  He  was  evidently  not  afraid  even  of  the 
waiter. 

Mrs.  Duane  was  there  on  business.  She  was  shopping 
for  a  daughter-in-law.  Being  a  believer  in  getting  her 
money's  worth,  she  came  soon  to  the  point: 

"My  son  tells  me->that  you  have  ideas,  Miss  Kip. 
That  rather  scared  me  at  first  and  I  was  afraid  to  meet 
you,  for  I  haven't  two  ideas  to  my  back.  But  now  that 
I  have  seen  how  pretty  you  are  and  how  well  you  dress — 
You  won't  mind  my  telling  you  so  brutally,  will  you — 
an  old  woman  has  some  privileges — " 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Duane!" 

Mrs.  Duane  understood  the  implied  protest  against  the 
epithet  "old,"  and  it  pleased  her.  But  she  went  on: 
"Just  what  are  your  ideas?  Tom  has  none  of  his  own 
and  can't  translate  other  people's,  so  I  wish  you'd  tell 
me  yourself." 

In  spite  of  her  flippancy  Mrs.  Duane  was  eager  for  her 
son  to  have  a  home  and  a  good  wife.  His  chances  for 
happiness  would  perhaps  be  better  if  he  selected  a  wife 
who  would  approach  him  and  his  people  with  a  little  awe 
from  a  step  below.  One  who  was  not  jaded  by  familiarity 
with  the  life  and  the  set  might  find  it  more  amusing,  and 
might  be  more  docile  to  its  ritual,  more  eager  to  live  up 
to  it. 

She  was  pleasantly  impressed  with  Daphne's  mag- 
netism and  the  instinct  for  nice  things  and  graceful  ways 
that  shone  through  the  girl's  evident  terror.  For  Daphne 
was  scared.  Bayard's  and  her  father's  new-found  money 
had  helped  her  to  dress  her  body  in  finery  and  her  mind 
in  security,  but  they  could  not  give  her  traditions  and 
cosmopolitan  sophistication.  She  felt  herself  a  foreigner 
talking  to  natives  of  a  land  that  she  knew  only  from  the 
outside. 

She  knew,  of  course,  when  to  use  which  fork,  and  all 
that,  but  she  was  entirely  uncertain  whether  her  opinions 
were  quite  the  right  thing  to  dip  into  the  conversation. 

447 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  was  further  shaken  by  Mrs.  Duane's  direct  question. 

"Ideas?"  she  laughed,  excitedly.  "Why,  I  didn't  know 
I  had  any.  Mr.  Duane  must  have  been  joking.  He 
always  is." 

"I  was  telling  mother  about  your  theories  of  a  woman's 
independence,"  Duane  explained.  "I  mussed  'em  all  up. 
She  was  interested  in  knowing  what  they  really  are." 

"Why,  I  have  no  theories,"  Daphne  protested.  "  I  just 
felt  that  a  girl  ought  to  be  able  to  earn  her  own  living 
and  have  a  mind  of  her  own.  My  father  was  pretty  hard 
up  awhile  ago,  and  I — I  suddenly  realized  how  much  of  a 
burden  I  was  to  him.  And  my  brother  got  married  and  I 
saw  how  bored  his  wife  was  when  he  had  to  be  away  from 
her,  so  I — well,  I  just  thought  a  woman  ought  not  to  be 
dependent  on  some  man  for  everything  she  eats  and  wears 
and  thinks  and  does.  That's  all.  And  I  struck  out  to 
try  to  make  my  own  way.  But  I  couldn't.  I  hadn't 
been  taught  how.  And  I  thought  every  girl  ought  to  be 
taught  a  trade — if  you'll  forgive  the  word." 

She  had  read  that  the  word  "trade"  was  anathema  to 
true  aristocrats,  and  she  wished  she  had  not  used  it.  But 
if  it  shocked  Mrs.  Duane  she  did  not  wince.  In  fact  she 
smiled  on  Daphne  with  a  certain  deference. 

"I  agree  with  you  entirely,"  she  said.  "I  wish  I  had 
been  taught  a  trade.  Louis  Sixteenth  was  a  locksmith,  and 
I  think  I  should  have  liked  to  be  a  horse-breaker;  but 
when  I  was  young  the  world  hadn't  rolled  around  into  the 
sun  so  far  as  it  has  now.  So  I've  had  nothing  to  do  in 
my  old  age  but  alternate  charity  with  dissipation.  I 
don't  know  which  bores  me  the  most." 

Then  a  stupid  old  bachelor  ("Prissy"  A tterbury,  they 
called  him)  floated  up  to  the  table  and  unburdened  him- 
self of  a  cargo  of  small  gossip.  He  had  the  ferocious 
mustaches  of  a  dragon  and  the  manners  of  a  simpering 
spinster.  There  was  no  shaking  him  off  till  Mrs.  Duane's 
time  was  up.  Then  he  toddled  away,  leaving  Tom  Duane 
fuming. 

448 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"I'd  have  broken  his  fool  jaw  for  him,"  he  grumbled, 
"but  a  gentleman  never  strikes  a  lady  except  in  self- 
defense." 

Mrs.  Duane  said:  "Prissy  is  a  perfect  example  of  your 
theory,  Miss  Kip,  that  every  woman  ought  to  have  a, 
business.  Prissy  has  none  on  earth  except  other  people's. 
Well,  good-by;  I  must  run.  You  must  let  me  come  to 
see  you,  or  let  Tom  take  us  on  a  spree  together.  Fix 
up  the  date  to  suit  yourself.  Tom  can  always  break  any 
engagements  I  may  have.  Good-by.  I  do  like  you  ever 
so  much.  We  must  be  great  friends.  Good-by." 

She  left  them  at  the  table  and  would  not  let  Tom  escort 
her  to  the  door.  There  was  a  silence  when  she  had  gone. 
It  was  hard  to  know  just  what  to  say.  Daphne  managed 
at  last  to  sigh : 

"What  a  darling  she  is!" 

"Nice  girl,"  said  Duane.  "She'd  make  a  first-rate 
mother-in-law,  don't  you  think?" 

That  was  just  what  Daphne  was  thinking,  but  she 
dodged,  "If  any  daughter-in-law  could  live  up  to  her." 

"You've  made  a  smashing  hit  with  her." 

"It  would  be  very  different  if  she  thought  of  me  as  a 
daughter-in-law. ' ' 

"That's  what  she  was  thinking  of.  I  told  her  how  in- 
sane I  am  about  you.  She  approves  of  you.  Will  you 
let  me  tell  her  you  approve  of  her?" 

This  was  terrifying — to  settle  one's  destiny  in  Del- 
monico's!  Daphne's  heart  beat  faster  than  it  beat  that 
night  on  Riverside  Drive  when  Duane's  arm  had  lingered 
about  her  shoulders  and  he  left  his  rain-coat  there. 

The  same  instinct  of  flight  stirred  her  now.  She  was 
afraid  of  him.  He  mistook  the  quivering  negative  of  her 
shaken  head  for  a  sign  of  scorn.  It  hurt  him  grievously. 

He  sighed  as  Clay  Wimburn  had  sighed  the  night  before 
when  Daphne  put  aside  his  big  diamond  engagement- 
ring.  His  humility  reminded  her  of  Clay,  and  of  her 
responsibilities  to  him. 

15  449 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  was  dizzy  with  bewilderment  while  Duane  paid 
the  bill  and  the  tip  and  took  her  to  a  taxicab.  They  rode 
to  her  home  in  silence,  and  when  he  said,  "  May  I  come  up 
a  minute?"  she  felt  that  she  had  repaid  him  so  ill  for  his 
and  his  mother's  hospitality  that  she  could  not  begrudge 
him  her  time. 

The  Chivvises  were  both  out,  and  she  was  a  trifle 
uneasy  at  the  emptiness  of  the  flat.  Duane  openly  re- 
joiced in  it. 


WITHOUT  waiting  to  be  invited,  he  urged  Daphne 
into  the  parlor  and  said,  with  determination: 
"  Look  here,  Miss  Daphne  Kip,  I  want  to  know  the  worst 
or  the  best  here  and  now.  I'm  going  dippy  with  hope 
and  despair.  If  you're  planning  to  throw  me  down, 
throw  me  down  now,  and  I'll  do  my  best  to  take  my 
medicine.  I  love  you.  My  mother  likes  you.  She  gave 
me  the  high  sign.  We  both  want  you  in  our  family. 
We'll  both  try  to  make  you  happy.  You'll  make  us  both 
happy.  I'll  be  good  to  you  and  true  to  you  and  I'll 
worship  you  for  ever  and  ever,  amen.  Don't  turn  me  out 
into  the  cold  world.  I  love  you,  little  Daphne.  I  just 
love  you  to  death!" 

She  stood  trembling  like  an  instrument  he  was  playing 
a  tune  on,  a  love  tune  that  she  could  not  help  vibrating 
to.  When  he  folded  his  big  arms  about  her  it  was  as  if  he 
embraced  a  violoncello.  She  made  no  more  resistance. 
Indeed,  she  tried  to  respond. 

When  he  saw  that  she  did  not  resist,  a  throe  of  rapture 
shot  through  him  and  he  clenched  his  arms  tighter  about 
her.  It  seemed  wonderful  to  her  that  she  could  thrill 
so  splendid  a  man  with  such  fire.  She  wondered  still  more 
that  she  felt  no  answering  flame.  Her  arms  were  not 
stirred  to  enwrap  him. 

He  bent  his  head  and  pressed  a  kiss  on  her  cheek  with 
unusual  reverence.  But  her  cheek  did  not  take  fire. 
Emboldened  by  her  unresistance,  he  curiously  turned 
her  face  with  his  cheek  and  set  his  lips  against  hers. 
She  felt  them  tremble  with  ardor,  and  she  tried  to  answer 
it  as  she  felt  its  fervor  demanded. 

4Si 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

But  she  could  not  put  love  into  her  mouth.  She  could 
not  requite  his  kiss.  It  was  as  if  she  were  paralyzed. 
The  contact  with  him  was  stupidity,  like  the  contact  with 
a  man  in  a  crowded  car.  She  could  not  feel  even  so 
strongly  as  to  feel  annoyance. 

Duane,  however,  was  overwhelmed  by  her  negative  ac- 
ceptance ;  by  her  failure  to  make  even  the  playful  opposi- 
tion of  coquetry.  He  took  the  absence  of  denial  as  a 
triumph. 

"Daphne!"  he  gasped.  "Does  it  mean  that  you  are 
going  to  marry  me?  Does  it?  Tell  me." 

She  answered,  faintly,  from  her  deep  surprise  at  herself, 
"Won't  you  give  me  a  little  time  to  think  it  over?" 

"Of  course  I  will,  you  angel !"  he  cried.  " I  don't  mean 
to  scare  you  or  hurry  you.  Take  all  the  time  you  need. 
And  so  that  you  won't  have  any  extra  prejudice  to  over- 
come, I'll  take  myself  out  of  your  sight  and  hearing." 
He  encircled  her  with  his  arms  again  and  groaned  in 
ecstasy :  ' '  Angel !  My  God,  but  I  do  adore  you !"  Then  he 
took  up  his  hat  and  stick  and  tiptoed  out  as  from  a  church. 

Daphne,  left  alone,  dropped  into  a  chair  and  took 
counsel  with  her  soul,  wondering  at  it  and  its  perverseness. 

She  had  been  translated  into  the  cloudy  realm  she  had 
always  looked  up  to.  She  had  been  offered  a  home  up 
there  where  the  enviable  inhabitants  dwell  in  a  serene 
superiority  to  the  money-diggers.  She  could  put  on  the 
plumage  of  the  demi-goddesses  and  be  intimate  with  the 
elect. 

If  she  married  Clay  she  would  have  all  her  career  to 
make.  Clay  and  she  had  narrowly  escaped  from  poverty 
to  the  next  lowest  grade  of  the  new-rich.  If  she  married 
Clay  they  would  hunt  a  more  or  less  expensive  apartment 
and  fill  it  with  more  or  less  costly  furniture,  all  of  it 
varnish-new.  Their  friends  would  be  other  strugglers  of 
the  same  set — new-rich,  or  worse. 

Clay  would  be  working  all  day  long  every  day  and  he 

452 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

would  worry  about  his  work  all  through  his  leisure  hours, 
just  as  Leila  had  said  he  would,  just  as  Leila  had  learned 
that  Bayard  did  and  always  would. 

She  understood  for  a  moment  now  why  Leila  liked 
Wetherell — because  such  Englishmen  knew  what  it  was 
to  take  money  for  granted,  and  to  use  it  as  a  means  of 
comfort,  not  the  be-all  and  end-all  of  existence. 

Duane  had  come  to  love  her.  His  mother  had  smiled 
on  her  and  asked  her  to  be  friends  with  her.  The  great 
Duane  and  his  greater  mother!  It  was  wonderful! 

What  was  the  matter  with  her  that  she  did  not  respond 
to  all  that  cordiality  with  as  much  or  more?  What  ailed 
her  that  she  could  hear  the  humble  prayer  of  Tom  Duane 
and  not  fling  her  arms  about  him  and  thank  him  and 
Heaven  for  flattering  her? 

And  yet  she  had  stood  like  a  numb  wooden  doll  while 
he  embraced  her!  She  had  asked  for  more  time!  She 
had  given  him  a  cold  cheek  for  his  lips;  a  dumb  mouth 
and  a  numb  heart ! 

Her  eyes  roved  the  shabby  room  he  asked  her  to  give 
up  for  the  mansion  he  would  take  her  to.  Her  lip  curled 
in  disgust  at  it — at  the  prim  simplicity  that  made  the 
best  of  its  poverty,  at  the  severity  of  arrangement  that 
tried  to  give  form  to  barrenness. 

She  saw  the  phonograph,  the  sole  musical  implement 
of  that  Spartan  interior.  She  sniffed.  Then  she  flushed. 
It  brought  back  to  her  suddenly  the  memory  of  the 
evening  when  she  and  Clay  Wimburn,  jailbirds  of  poverty, 
had  made  a  pitiful  ball-room  of  the  narrow  place. 

She  flushed  a  deeper  crimson,  for  she  remembered  the 
turbulence  that  had  made  chaos  of  her  virtues  in  that 
dance.  Her  side  ached  with  memory  of  Clay's  arm  about 
it.  Her  lips  stung  with  the  recollection  of  Clay's  kisses. 
She  was  all  shot  through  with  a  confusion  of  flames  as  she 
lived  again  through  those  wild  moments  when  her  blood 
answered  his  so  fiercely  that  it  overpowered  and  nearly 
damned  her. 

453 


Clay  had  been  potent  enough  to  kindle  her  almost 
beyond  his  own  power  to  quell  her.  He  had  sent  her 
heart  whirling  as  dizzily  as  a  little  red  top,  and  filled  her 
with  terrible  yearnings.  He  had  made  her  blaze,  while 
Duane  had  left  her  calm.  Duane  offered  her  velvet,  and 
Wimburn  fire.  It  was  luxury  from  without  against 
luxury  from  within. 

That  must  mean  something.  She  wondered  what  it 
meant.  She  was  not  so  proud  of  her  fire  and  her  in- 
flammability as  she  might  well  have  been,  but  she  had  a 
wholesome  instinct  that  the  fire  should  be  kept  at  home — 
or  the  home  should  be  built  about  the  fire. 

She  had  been  Clay's  wife  once  in  soul  and  desire.  She 
had  belonged  to  him  as  she  could  not  belong  to  any  one 
else.  Did  this  not  mean  that  she  was  wedded  to  Clay 
by  fate  and  every  obligation?  Was  it  not  a  loathsome 
disloyalty  even  to  debate  a  union  with  another  man? 

And  now  she  shuddered  again  with  disgust  and  she 
wondered  again,  but  now  she  did  not  wonder  why  she 
had  failed  to  prize  Duane's  embrace.  She  wondered  how 
she  had  been  low  enough  to  endure  it  for  an  instant. 

She  groveled  in  remorse.  She  felt  a  need  to  go  to  Clay 
and  make  a  confession,  beg  his  absolution.  She  pondered 
this  duty  a  long  while  with  dread.  It  would  be  an  odious 
humiliation.  "And  yet  you  belong  to  him,  and  you  have 
been  false  to  him,"  her  conscience  told  her. 

She  lingered  in  this  mire  of  self-abasement  till  abruptly 
she  was  rescued  from  it  by  a  reaction  of  pride.  Pride 
shot  up  in  her  dark  soul  like  a  rocket  in  the  night  and  she 
cried  to  herself  and  the  world: 

"No,  I  don't  belong  to  Clay  Wimburn!  or  to  Tom 
Duane!  or  to  anybody!  I  belong  to  Me!  to  Me!  My 
soul's  my  own  and  my  body's  my  own  and  my  life  is 
my  own.  I'm  not  going  to  give  'em  up  to  any  man.  I'm 
not  going  to  marry  anybody.  All  the  men  are  disgusting, 
greedy  pigs.  They  don't  want  to  marry  any  woman, 
they  only  want  to  hire  a  wife — rent  a  plaything — some- 

454 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

body  to  kiss  and  pet  for  a  few  hours  a  week.  All  the  rest 
of  the  time  she  must  take  care  of  herself  and  fill  her  time 
the  best  she  can.  Well,  I'm  going  to  be  an  old  maid  and 
live  my  own  life  and  pay  my  own  way." 

The  change  in  her  mood  was  as  violent  as  if  she  had 
been  drifting  in  a  moonlit  canoe  and  her  lovers  had  rocked 
the  boat  and  spilled  her  into  icy  water,  and  then  fallen  to 
fighting  each  other  instead  of  helping  her.  She  had  to 
swim  or  drown. 


CHAPTER  LXVI 

IT  was  on  this  mood  that  Mrs.  Chivvis  came  in.  She 
stared  at  Daphne,  noted  her  excitement,  and  her  soli- 
tude, and  asked,  with  characteristic  brilliance,  "Well, 
well,  you  home?" 

Daphne  answered  politely,  if  obviously,  "Yes." 

Since  she  could  not  explain  further,  Mrs.  Chiwis  ex- 
plained her  own  affairs;  and  Daphne  was  so  exhausted 
with  the  sultry  problems  of  love  that  Mrs.  Chivvis' 
business  gossip  was  completely  refreshing. 

"I've  been  down  to  the  Woman's  Exchange,"  she  said, 
"trying  to  sell  some  of  my  needlework.  They  were  very 
nice  about  it,  but  it  means  a  terrible  amount  of  labor  for  a 
pittance  of  money.  You  have  to  pay  them  so  much  a  year 
for  the  privilege  of  putting  your  things  on  sale  there. 
Then  they  don't  guarantee  to  return  it  in  good  condition, 
and  they  don't  guarantee  to  sell  it;  or  if  they  do  they 
charge  you  twenty  per  cent,  for  their  end  of  it. 

"I  couldn't  see  any  profit  in  that,  so  I  went  to  one  of 
the  jobbers.  He  said  my  style  of  work  brought  good 
prices  in  the  big  stores.  But  they  won't  pay  him  much 
and  he'll  pay  me  less. 

"I  was  thinking —  You  know  Mr.  Chivvis  says  the 
reason  women  are  so  much  worse  paid  than  men  is  because 
women  don't  know  how  to  market  their  services.  Most 
business  men,  he  says,  are  poor  business  men,  too,  but 
they're  really  all  better  than  the  best  of  business  women 
— except  actresses  and  authoresses  and  a  few  of  that 
kind  of  'esses. 

"My  mother  used  to  spend  half  a  day  making  lamp- 

456 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

lighters  out  of  old  newspapers.  My  father  came  home 
one  time  when  she  was  all  tired  out  twisting  the  things. 
And  I  remember  his  saying,  'Abby' — her  name  was 
Abigail — -'Abby,'  he  said,  'just  how  high  do  you  value 
your  time?'  he  said.  And  she  said,  'How  do  you  mean, 
Bije?' — his  name  was  Abijah.  And  he  said,  'Well,  Abby, 
you've  spent  three  hours  makin'  about  a  hundred  lamp- 
lighters, and  I  can  buy  five  hundred  matches  for  five 
cents.  So  I  calculate  that  you  make  about  one  cent  every 
three  hours,  or  four  cents  a  day  on  a  twelve-hour  day.' 

"You  could  have  knocked  her  over  with  a  feather. 
And  after  that  if  you  wanted  to  get  Ma  mad  you  just  had 
to  say  'lamplighter.'" 

"For  Heaven's  sake!"  said  Daphne,  forgetting  her  own 
woes  in  the  sorry  picture  of  such  spendthrift  parsimony. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  felt  it  apropos  to  bring  out  a  cherished 
heirloom,  a  piece  of  age-yellow  cloth  in  which  three  al- 
phabets had  been  stitched  by  fingers  long  since  as  cold 
and  white  as  the  crochet-needles  they  had  fenced  with. 
The  three  alphabets,  each  in  capitals  and  small  letters, 
were  elaborated  with  various  conventionalized  symbols 
between  and  an  ornate  border.  And  beneath  was  a 
stanza  of  highly  discouraging  verses: 

Our  life  is  like  a  summer's  day, 

It  seems  so  quickly  past. 
Youth  is  the  morning  bright  and  gay, 
.  And  if  'tis  spent  in  wisdom's  way 
We  meet  old  age  without  dismay, 

And  death  is  sweet  at  last. 

Daphne  recognized  the  cloth  as  a  "sampler,"  and  a 
good  one,  but  it  hurt  her  to  contemplate  the  patience  it 
had  required. 

"Ugh!"  she  groaned.  "I  suppose  the  poor  woman 
thought  that  she  was  spending  her  youth  in  wisdom's 
way  when  she  was  working  on  that,  but  I  don't  wonder 
she  found  death  sweet.  What  awful  piffle  women  have 

457 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

wasted   their   energy   on   all   through   the   ages!    They 
haven't  even  made  money  at  it." 

"Do  you  think  the  money  part  of  it  makes  it  worth 
while?" 

"You  bet  I  do,  for  however  you  earn  money,  if  you 
make  a  lot  of  it,  you  can  buy  things  worth  while  with  it. 
It's  all  right  to  do  foolish  things  to  get  money,  if  you 
spend  the  money  in  wisdom's  way.  But  when  I  see  those 
silly  old  things  our  grandmothers  fooled  away  their 
lives  on  I  don't  think  they  were  as  good  as  we  pretend. 
And  I  don't  think  we're  as  bad  as  we  pretend." 

Daphne  fingered  the  sampler  with  its  crazy  mosaic  of 
thread  squares.  It  had  been  everybody's  religion  to 
praise  the  sewing  generation,  and  to  uphold  the  eternal 
needle-wielders  as  themselves  samplers  to  model  life  on. 
Yet  while  they  were  weaving  these  table-covers  and 
chair-covers  and  trite  wall-mottoes  their  sons  and  hus- 
bands were  conquering  the  wilderness,  carrying  the  flag 
from  ocean  to  ocean,  building  cities,  laying  down  rail- 
roads and  aqueducts,  inventing  steam-engines  and  steam- 
boats and  telegraphs.  The  contrast  was  severe. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  was  a  trifle  shocked  at  Daphne's  reception 
of  her  sampler,  but  she  said  in  its  defense : 

"Well,  even  at  that,  there's  money  in  these  things 
and  in  all  sorts  of  needle-things  if  you  have  a  little 
capital." 

"That's  different  again,"  said  Daphne.  "And  I've  got 
some  capital  now.  Do  you  remember  suggesting  to  me 
once  that  we  might  go  into  business  together — you  to 
furnish  the  brains  and  I  the  money?" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  put  it  that  way!" 

"Anyway,  it's  true.     Well,  would  you?" 

"Land's  sakes!  if  you're  a  mind  to  furnish  the  money 
and  the  ideas  and  let  me  count  the  pennies,  I'd  like  nothing 
better." 

"Great!    What  could  we  go  into?" 

"What  would  you  prefer?" 

458 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Oh,  any  old  business  that  will  keep  me  busy  and  make 
a  lot  of  money." 

"My  husband  says  that  you  can't  make  a  lot  of  money 
without  putting  in  a  lot.  That's  one  reason  he  has  been 
kept  down  so.  He  never  could  get  ahead.  That  was 
what  we  were  saving  up  for — to  get  a  little  capital.  And 
then  the  war  came  along — and  we  had  to  spend  our  sav- 
ings. That  same  war  has  made  your  brother  so  rich  that 
he  could  give  you  a  small  fortune.  I  don't  believe  you 
could  do  better  than  to  put  that  into  a  business." 

"Neither  do  I !"  Daphne  cried.     "Let's!" 

There  was  an  unbelievable  satisfaction  in  being  a  cap- 
italist and  discussing  great  business  investments  calmly. 
It  was  a  new  kind  of  game,  more  exciting  than  tennis  or 
tango — more  novel  than  love. 

"What  could  we  do  best?  We  don't  want  to  spend  all 
our  money  at  once.  What  businesses  are  there?" 

She  seized  the  morning  paper  and  ransacked  it  as 
eagerly  as  if  she  were  looking  up  the  matine'e  advertise- 
ments. •  But  she  found  nothing  to  her  need. 

While  Mrs.  Chiwis  pondered,  Daphne  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  down  into  Columbus  Circle.  She 
was  as  impatient  as  a  newly  snared  bird.  She  could  see 
several  restaurants,  dance-halls,  beer-halls,  Chinese  chop- 
suey  emporiums,  and  American  quick  milk-rooms,  mov- 
ing-picture resorts,  cigar-stores,  a  florist's  outside  booth 
clinging  to  a  saloon  wall  like  an  orchid  on  a  rotten  stump. 

In  such  an  environment  the  street-cars  and  taxicabs 
continued  to  eddy  about  the  statue  of  Columbus,  stuck 
up  like  a  St.  Simeon  Stylites  to  witness  the  restlessness 
for  which  he  was  so  largely  to  blame. 

Daphne  found  no  inspiration  in  the  scene. 

"There's  nothing  attractive  down  there,"  she  sighed. 
"In  England  they  have  barmaids  and  in  France  cigar- 
maids,  and  in  Germany  the  women  are  driving  street- 
cars and  taxicabs,  but  not  for  me,  thank  you.  What  are 
we  going  to  do?" 

459 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"I  like  something  with  sewing  in  it,"  Mrs.  Chivvis 
murmured. 

"Flowers  are  nicer,"  said  Daphne.  "Last  Sunday  I 
was  reading  about  a  girl  who  came  over  here  from  Greece. 
A  Spartan  girl  named  Helen  something  or  other,  who  is 
paying  twelve  thousand  dollars  a  year  rental  for  a  flower- 
stand.  That's  better  business  than  Helen  of  Troy  was  in, 
eh?  Some  change  from  the  old-fashioned  flower-girl,  too, 
isn't  it?  How  would  you  like  flowers?" 

"We-11,"  Mrs.  Chivvis  mused,  "flowers  are  nice.  But 
they  fade  so  fast.  And  you  have  to  keep  them  half- 
frozen  to  sell  them,  I  think  I  should  prefer  something 
with  sewing  in  it." 

"So  I  heard."  Daphne  smiled,  but  did  not  assent. 
"There's  candy  and  there's  tea — and  toys;  but — " 

Daphne  had  really  no  specific  ambitions,  no  call  to 
glory,  no  mission  for  reformation,  no  poetic  or  dramatic 
yearnings,  no  overpowering  desire  to  get  her  personality 
expressed  or  understood.  She  was  not  sure  that  she  had 
a  personality,  and  if  she  had  she  was  not  worried  about 
its  comprehension  by  herself  or  any  one  else.  Her  one 
big  emotion  was  a  desire  to  make  her  money  make  more 
money — as  much  as  possible  as  soon  as  possible. 

She  dreamed  with  less  constraint  than  Mrs.  Chiwis, 
for  Mrs.  Chiwis  was  afraid  of  gorgeous  things,  lavish 
fabrics,  high  places,  big  figures.  She  wranted  enough  to 
live  neatly  on,  and  her  idea  of  luxury  was  a  bank  account 
growing  slowly  and  very  surely. 

Plain  sewing  would  have  suited  Mrs.  Chiwis,  or  hum- 
ble dressmaking,  or  a  notion-shop  where  one  vended 
bright  threads  and  needles  and  tape  and  hooks  and  eyes. 

But  Daphne  liked  her  food  enhanced  with  pepper  and 
sugar  and  syrups  and  rich  sauces.  She  wanted  paprika 
on  her  life. 

She  thought  a  long  while,  running  her  memory  up  and 
down  Fifth  Avenue,  peeping  at  windows  and  signs.  She 
could  not  recall  anything  interesting  as  well  as  available. 

460 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

At  length  she  caught  sight  of  the  red  telephone-book 
of  classified  industries,  and,  opening  it,  skimmed  over 
the  running  heads  of  the  pages,  with  occasional  com- 
ments : 

"Accountants — I  don't  know  enough.  Daddy  does  it 
by  machinery.  Art  goods — I'm  no  good  at  art.  Boots 
and  shoes — brass — caterers — chocolate — cloaks — costum- 
ing —  decorators  —  dressmakers  —  employment  bureaus 
— fish  —  fur  —  glue  —  hats  —  hosiery  —  insurance  - 
jewelry — ladies'  clothing — ladies'  hats — ladies'  underwear 
— ladies'  waists — lamp-shades — 

"Lamp-shades  are  nice,"  suggested  Mrs.  Chiwis. 
"You  can  sew — 

Daphne  shook  her  head,  and  read  on:  "There's  a  lot  of 
lawyers — literary  agents — milliners — neckwear — nurses — 
petticoats — photographs — physicians —  There  are  pages 
of  physicians  and  lawyers — always  lots  of  sick  people  and 
quarrelers.  Rugs — pages  of  saloons — silk  finishers — silk 
throwsters,  whatever  they  are !  Suspender  manufacturers 
— tea — toilet  preparations — translators — trunks — under- 
takers— upholsterers — vaudeville — vermin  exterminators 
— weather-vanes  (I  could  be  one  of  those) — window- 
cleaners — wreckers  and  divers — yarn — yeast — and  last 
of  all  are  zinc  spelters,  whatever  they  are.  Would  you 
rather  be  a  silk  throwster  or  a  zinc  spelter?" 

"I'd  prefer  something  with  sewing  in  it." 

Daphne  stared  at  the  white,  lean  face  taut  with  the 
meekness  and  the  stubbornness  of  a  martyr.  She  felt 
sorry  a  little,  and  mischievous  much.  It  pleased  her  to 
shock  that  saint.  So  she  said: 

"All  right,  I'll  agree  to  something  with  sewing  in  it — 
underwear!" 

Mrs.  Chiwis'  natural  pallor  turned  wanner,  the  hue 
that  is  called  white  on  white.  She  saw  the  humor  in 
Daphne's  eyes,  but  she  thought  it  hardly  a  joking  matter. 
She  simply  had  to  protest: 

"Oh,  that  wouldn't  be  nice  at  all." 
461 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Not  nice?"  Daphne  cried.  "Why,  the  nicest  people 
wear  it.  If  they  don't  they're  not  nice." 

Mrs.  Chiwis  was  all  aflutter.  Her  eyes  involuntarily 
rolled  round  the  corner  to  see  if  her  husband  were 
near. 

Daphne  howled  her  delight  and  seized  and  hugged  Mrs. 
Chiwis  with  such  vigor  that  she  broke  the  ice  completely 
and  nearly  a  corset  rib  or  two.  She  made  Mrs.  Chiwis 
ashamed  and  turned  the  white  to  a  flush  of  pink  and 
laughter. 

"Oh,  that's  ever  so  much  better!"  Daphne  shouted. 
"You  don't  know  how  becoming  it  is  to  you  to  blush. 
I'll  have  to  say  awful  things  to  you  often  and  get  a  little 
human  color  into  you.  But  that's  settled.  I'm  going 
into  the  lingerie  business,  or  none.  You  can  blush  all 
the  time  you  make  it,  and  when  you  sell  it  you'll  be  a 
vision  of  beauty." 

Mrs.  Chiwis  tried  a  last  feeble  argument.  "But 
there's  no  great  money  in — in — those  things." 

"No  money!"  Daphne  echoed.  "Well,  when  you  got 
your  trousseau  didn't  you  pay  about  a  million  dollars  for 
yours?" 

"My  trousseau  was  very  modest,"  Mrs.  Chiwis  mum- 
bled, blenching  at  Daphne's  sacrilege. 

"I'll  bet  it  was!"  Daphne  cried.  "Well,  anyway, 
when  I  started  to  buy  my  trousseau  the  prices  for  lingerie 
and  negligee  were  simply  appalling.  And  some  of  the 
things  were  worth  the  price.  Beautiful?  Umm,  they 
were  dreams!  If  we  could  open  a  little  shop  and  sell 
exquisite  things — " 

"But—" 

"Oh,  it  would  be  the  modestest  shop  of  all,  for  no  men 
would  ever  come  around." 

This  exerted  a  strong  influence  on  Mrs.  Chiwis'  mind, 
and  later  on  her  husband's  mind.  At  first  he  was  hor- 
rified, rampant;  he  glared  at  his  wife  as  if  she  were  guilty 
already  of  shameless  behavior;  he  asked  her  who  she 

462 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

thought  he  was,  and  what  she  thought  he  was.  He  could 
hardly  have  conducted  himself  with  more  violence  if  she 
had  announced  her  determination  to  be  a  wire-dancer  in 
tights,  or  a  "classic"  dancer  in  none. 

Here  again  the  contradictions  of  morality  were  manifest. 
The  sacrosanctity  of  different  portions  of  the  human  hide 
at  different  times  is  puzzling  enough,  but  who  shall  justify 
the  elaborately  inconsistent  regard  for  the  various  layers 
of  garments — those  which,  as  Daphne  said,  it  is  not  nice 
either  to  mention  or  to  omit? 

Mr.  Chiwis'  grandmother  would  have  made  a  decent 
pretense  of  fainting  at  a  literary  allusion  to  such  things, 
yet  she  wore  ruffled  pantalettes  that  obtruded  below  the 
periphery  of  her  voluminous  petticoats. 

But  our  day,  for  all  its  relics  of  prudery,  is  a  trifle  more 
sane.  Secrets  of  every  kind  are  held  suspect.  President 
Wilson,  before  he  was  President,  had  said  that  nowadays 
"everything  must  be  exposed,  brought  to  the  light, 
published."  He  was  thinking  of  political  and  business 
methods.  But  the  spirit  did  not  stop  there  and  it  revolu- 
tionized costume.  It  led  women  to  wear  short  skirts 
and  riding-breeches,  and  to  bathe  with  men  in  clinging 
molds  of  themselves.  It  extended  to  the  reyelation  of 
armpits  in  ball-rooms  and  bare  legs  on  the  stage  and  to 
the  Grecian  candor  of  young  men  running  through  the 
streets  in  next  to  nothing. 

It  led  to  titanic  electric  signs  of  underclothes  for  men 
and  women,  and  the  filling  of  the  advertising  pages  and 
text  pages  of  the  magazines  with  images  of  both  sexes 
in  their  penultimate  raiment,  their  going-to-the-bath-room 
toilets  of  the  most  ingenious  construction  and  mechanism. 
The  unmentionables  of  yesterday  became  the  proclama- 
tions of  to-day. 

And  these  things  were  as  much  in  the  genius  of  the  day 
as  the  war  in  Europe  or  the  inquisitiveness  of  the  X-ray. 
And  after  all,  why  should  we  quail  or  apologize?  Let 
truth  prosper  in  every  direction.  It  leaves  the  opppr- 

463 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

tunities  of  virtue  undiminished  and  it  reduces  the  realm 
of  hyprocrisy  a  little  further. 

None  the  less,  Mrs.  Esther  Chiwis,  whose  soul  was  an 
heirloom  from  an  earlier  period,  was  frightened.  The 
enterprise  became  an  escapade.  And  she  did  not  relish 
escapades. 

Even  the  venturesome  Daphne  was  a  little  exalted. 
She  felt  the  tang  of  crime  in  the  undertaking. 

Soon  that  tang  was  gone,  since  wickedness  loses  its 
savor  even  more  quickly  than  conformity.  She  decided 
that  there  was  something  rather  tiresome  in  shock  for 
shock's  sake.  There  must  be  variety  in  the  wares  she 
would  put  on  sale.  She  wandered  among  the  shops  for 
days,  no  longer  wishing  that  she  might  buy  things,  but 
that  she  might  sell  them. 


CHAPTER  LXVII 

'"PHE  market  spirit  smolders  in  women  as  in  men. 
1  The  air  had  reached  it  and  quickened  it  in  Daphne. 
The  blood  of  countless  merchants  was  in  her  veins.  She 
did  not  know  what  "atavism"  meant,  but  she  was  full 
of  it. 

Daphne  was  going  to  be  independent,  but  she  was  still 
all  woman  when  it  came  to  the  selection  of  her  special 
trade.  She  would  be  a  business  woman,  but  she  would 
do  a  woman's  business. 

There  were  ever  so  many  dainties  and  exquisites  that 
she  wanted  to  hang  in  her  shop.  She  was  going  to  have  a 
window!  With  her  name  on  it!  That  would  be  more 
fun  than  a  limousine  with  crest  on  door. 

Gradually  her  scheme  enlarged.  She  would  devote 
her  shop  to  the  whole  mechanism  of  the  boudoir.  "Bou- 
doirwear"  was  a  word  that  pleased  her. 

When  she  told  Mrs.  Chiwis  the  new  trade  term  Mrs. 
Chiwis  was  almost  ecstatic  with  relief.  She  had  feared 
that  she  would  have  to  sell  unspeakables.  She  had  felt 
hardly  better  than  one  of  those  unfortunate  women  whom 
poverty  condemns  to  scrubbing  floors  of  offices  and  worse 
— to  carrying  slops  and  washing  odious  things. 

Now  she  was  to  be  emancipated  to  a  dealer  in  laces 
and  silks.  She  could  write  to  her  people  and  tell  them 
what  she  was  doing  without  deprecation  or  evasion. 
Daphne  was  rhapsodically  happy.  She  chanted,  "We'll 
sell  boudoir  caps  and  peignoirs  and  couvre-pieds  and  mules 
and  stockings  and  breakfast- jackets  and  bath-robes  and 
cushions,  handkerchiefs  and  handkerchief -bags,  and  sachet 
things  and  dressing-table  accessories  and  perfumes  and 

465 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

• — oh  yes,  I  saw  some  exquisite  embroidered  bell-ropes. 
They're  coming  into  style.  Let's  sell  bell-ropes,  and 
everything  and  everything. 

"I'll  tell  you! — let's  sell  trousseaux! — all  the  duds  a 
poor  little  distracted  bride  needs.  I  was  nearly  one  my- 
self and  I  know  what  the  wretches  suffer. 

"And  let's  not  charge  'em  too  much.  The  pitiful 
creatures  have  troubles  enough  without  bankrupting 
everybody  in  advance. 

"  I  remember  how  the  price-tags  put  my  romance  on  the 
blink.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  them  I'd  have  been  a  nice  old 
married  lady  by  now." 

She  fell  pensive  over  the  memories  revoked  by  the  word 
"trousseau."  She  had  come  to  New  York  to  buy  her  own, 
and  all  her  life  had  been  changed  thereby.  People  so 
rarely  remain  in  New  York  to  do  what  they  come  for. 

Daphne  had  done  nearly  everything  except  buy  her 
trousseau.  Now  she  was  going  to  sell  trousseaux  for 
other  people  and  never  have  any  of  her  own. 

Her  regrets,  however,  were  soon  forgotten  in  the 
multiplicity  of  her  affairs.  A  shop  must  be  found,  rent 
paid  in  advance,  fixtures  installed,  advertisements  planned. 
Stock  must  be  bought  to  sell. 

It  was  in  human  nature  that  the  partners  should  quarrel 
over  a  name  for  the  baby  before  the  baby  was  born. 
They  spoke  of  themselves  as  "The  Firm." 

The  problem  was  what  to  put  on  the  window  and  the 
stationery.  Mrs.  Chiwis  was  for  plain 


KIP 

AND    CHIWIS 

but  Daphne  felt  that  such  dainty  wares  as  they  were 
going  to  vend  needed  a  better  bush. 

There  were  hours  of  debate  over  a  designation.     They 
sewed  while  they  wrangled.     They  were  laying  in  what 

466 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

stock  they  could  in  advance.  Mrs.  Chiwis,  having  been 
forced  to  give  up  the  chaste  dignity  of  "Kip  and  Chiwis," 
ran  amuck  and  proposed  "Daphne  and  Esther"  or  "Mile. 
Daphne  et  Mme.  Esther,"  even  "Mesdames  Kip  et 
Chiwis."  She  thought  she  might  give  her  name  a 
French  twist  as  "Chevaux."  Daphne  retorted  that 
"Chemise"  was  nearer.  Mrs.  Chiwis  sniffed. 

Daphne  proposed  "The  Chiffonier,"  but  found  that  it 
had  been  pre-empted.  Mrs.  Chiwis  suggested  "The 
Bureau."  She  grew  enthusiastic  for  "The  Bureau 
Drawer."  Daphne  was  reminded  of  Mr.  Ken  Hubbard's 
line  in  a  newspaper:  "Miss  Fawn  Lippincutt  was  con- 
fined to  the  house  for  three  days  last  week  by  a  swollen 
bureau  drawer." 

As  people  do  when  they  hunt  for  titles,  they  reverted 
to  chaos  and  argued  excitedly  for  more  and  more  in- 
temperate fantasies — "The  Wardrobe,"  "The  Boudoir," 
"The  Clothes  Closet,"  "The  Cedar  Chest,"  "The  Trous- 
seau Shop,"  "Boudoiria,"  "The  Lingerie-Mart,"  "Dainty 
Duds  for  Desperate  Dames,"  "La  Vie  Intime,"  "La 
Stitch  Intime,"  "Frills  and  Furbelows." 

Finally  Daphne,  claiming  the  majority  of  the  power, 
voted  en  bloc  for  "Boudoirwear,"  and  claimed  the  victory. 
Mrs.  Chiwis  surrendered  with  the  amendment  that 
"Miss  Kip"  should  be  at  one  side,  "Mrs.  Chiwis"  at 
the  other.  She  bribed  the  assembly  by  promising  that 
a  cousin  of  hers,  a  young  artist  living  in  the  Washington 
Mews,  should  paint  a  pretty  signboard  on  a  swinging 
shingle.  After  many  designs  had  been  composed  and 
destroyed  they  agreed  on  this  legend: 


BOUDOIRWEAR 

Everything    for    the    Boudoir. 
Exquisite    Things    for    Brides. 

Miss  KIP  MRS.  CHIWIS 

467 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

The  cousin  painted  it  well  and  illuminated  it  with 
elaborate  intials  and  an  allegorical  figure  of  a  young  lady 
in  Cubist  ne"glig£e.  It  had  the  traditional  charm  of  a 
tavern  board.  In  fact,  their  shop  was  to  be  a  tavern  for 
women  in  search  of  sartorial  refreshment. 

The  next  puzzle  was  to  find  a  place  to  spread  their 
shelves  and  hang  the  sign.  Lengthy  discussions  ensued 
as  to  the  individualities  of  streets  and  sides  of  streets  and 
blocks  and  neighbors.  Long  walks  were  necessary,  and 
interviews  with  real-estate  brokers  and  landlords,  land- 
ladies, and  land  agents. 

Prices  were  appalling.  Leases  included  the  most 
ominous  conditions.  Places  with  the  best  attractions 
had  the  worst  faults.  Low  rentals  went  with  unfre- 
quented regions.  Situations  where  much  traffic  flowed 
past  the  door  were  so  costly  that  they  denied  all  hope 
of  profit. 

Daphne  and  Esther  gradually  increased  the  maximum 
price  originally  resolved  upon.  It  seemed  necessary 
to  take  a  desperate  plunge  or  give  up  all  chance  of 
success. 

The  thousand-dollar  capital  had  gone  dwindling  rapidly 
under  Daphne's  living  expenses  and  the  expenses  of  ex- 
ploration. When  the  prices  of  fixtures  were  added  to  the 
cost  of  the  least  possible  stock  plus  the  amount  of  the 
least  practicable  rent  multiplied  by  the  number  of  months 
that  must  elapse  before  the  desired  income  could  approach 
the  assured  outgo,  the  venture  began  to  look  like  nothing 
but  a  laborious  method  of  squandering  money. 

Still,  their  hearts  were  committed  to  the  enterprise; 
and  they  settled  at  last  upon  an  empty  little  shop  in  the 
late  Thirties  between  Madison  Avenue  and  Fifth.  It  cost 
only  six  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  rent,  but  its  floor  space 
was  only  twelve  by  eighteen. 

It  was  a  moment  of  historical  importance  when  the 
somewhat  too-gallant  real-estate  agent  offered  them  his 
fountain-pen  and  pointed  to  a  blank  space  for  their  sig- 

468 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

natures — he  pointed  with  his  little  finger,  because  that 
one  had  a  ring  on  it. 

He  accepted  Daphne's  check  with  a  chivalrous  bow, 
and  the  deed  was  done.  He  said  he  would  drop  round 
and  see  if  he  could  be  of  any  help.  He  was  not  en- 
couraged. 

The  two  merchant  princesses  walked  out  into  the  air 
full  of  repentance  for  their  audacity  and  dread  of  the 
future. 

Troubles  mustered  about  them  as  weeds  shove  up  in  a 
garden  faster  than  they  can  be  plucked  out.  Expenses 
undreamed  of  materialized  in  swarms.  Everything  was 
delayed  except  the  demands  for  their  money.  The 
petty-cash  box,  like  a  sort  of  perverted  fairy  purse, 
emptied  itself  as  fast  as  it  was  filled. 

The  petty  cash  was  the  least  of  their  dismay.  The 
grand  cash  was  the  main  problem.  They  had  stitched 
their  fingers  full  of  holes  and  piled  up  reams  of  fabrics,  but 
the  total  was  pathetically  tiny. 

The  shop  was  tiny,  too,  for  a  shop,  but  it  seemed  as  big 
as  Madison  Square  Garden  when  they  compared  its 
area  with  what  stock  they  had  made  and  could  buy  with 
the  remnant  of  Daphne's  capital. 

One  thing  was  instantly  demonstrated.  They  must 
give  up  their  plan  or  go  into  debt.  Indeed,  they  already 
were  in  debt. 

"We've  got  to  take  the  plunge,"  said  Daphne.  "I'd 
rather  die  than  go  on  paying  a  year's  rent  for  an  empty 
shop." 

"I  know,"  Mrs.  Chiwis  fretted,  gnawing  her  thin  lips, 
"but  it's  a  risk.  You'd  better  ask  your  brother." 

"No!"  Daphne  stormed.  "I'm  going  to  win  out  on 
my  own.  Poor  Bayard  is  too  busy  to  be  bothered  with 
my  troubles.  He  doesn't  know  I  have  any.  And  Leila 
is  so  busy  with  her  social  business  that  she  never  asks 
me  what  I'm  up  to. 

"I  drop  into  lunch  or  dinner  once  in  a  while  and  she 
469 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

does  all  the  talking  about  her  own  new  clothes  or  the 
people  she's  met.  Then  she  asks  how  I  am,  and  I  say, 
'Oh,  all  right,'  and  that  convinces  her  that  I've  told  her 
all  I  know." 

"But  what  are  we  to  do?"  Mrs.  Chiwis  wailed.  "We 
can't  go  on  with  our  stock,  and  you  have  no  money  left, 
and  I  hadn't  any  to  start  with." 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  do,"  Daphne  answered,  with 
a  sphinxic  solemnity.  "Buy  on  credit." 

"But  who'll  give  us  credit?" 

"If  you  could  know  the  number  of  people  who  have 
offered  to  give  me  all  the  time  I  want!" 

"Oh,  Daphne!"  Mrs.  Chiwis  gasped. 

But  Daphne  caught  her  up:  "You're  another!  They 
were  homely  old  men." 

"That  only  makes  it  worse.  When  I  remember  the 
manner  of  that  real-estate  wretch  it  makes  my  blood 
boil." 

"Your  blood  will  never  boil,  Esther,"  Daphne  laughed. 
"And  neither  will  mine  for  any  of  these  tradesmen.  It 
was  strictly  trade." 

"But  what  motive  could  they  have,  except — ' 

"Why,  they  wanted  to  sell  goods.  They  told  me  that 
I  must  have  a  good  stock,  and  that  I  was  sure  to  succeed, 
because  to-day  is  Lady's  Day  in  business.  Just  look  at 
the  success  we're  having." 

"We?" 

"We  women.  And  it's  a  case  of  nothing  venture, 
nothing  gain;  nothing  purchase,  nothing  sell;  nothing 
borrow,  nothing  pay.  The  only  way  to  get  out  of  debt 
is  to  go  in  deeper — like  getting  a  fish-hook  out  of  your 
thumb." 

Mrs.  Chiwis  suffered  herself  to  be  persuaded.  They 
visited  the  wholesalers  and  the  jobbers  and  were  well 
received,  having  paid  cash  before — and,  thanks  to  Mr. 
Chiwis'  suggestion,  having  been  astute  enough  to  de- 
mand discount  for  cash. 

470 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

And  now  the  motor-trucks  and  the  delivery-wagons 
and  the  cycle-cars  and  the  messenger-boys  began  to  pour 
stock  into  the  little  shop.  It  was  pleasant  not  to  have 
to  pay  for  things,  though  the  tips  were  reaching  alarming 
proportions,  and  the  bundle  of  bills  for  future  settlement 
grew  and  grew. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  made  a  list  of  their  debts  and  tried  to 
show  it  to  Daphne,  but  she  stopped  her  eyes  and  ears 
and  forbade  any  discussion  that  would  quench  her 
spirit. 

She  had  yielded  to  the  kind  of  seduction  in  which  the 
business  world  abounds.  Girls  and  women  are  led  to 
ruin  by  whispered  promises  of  marriage  and  by  the  bright 
hypnotic  lights  of  diamonds.  Business  men  are  seduced 
by  the  murmur  of  "Thirty  days — ninety  days — all  the 
time  you  want." 

The  same  murmur  is  easier  still  when  it  is  cooed  into 
the  ear  of  a  woman  anxious  to  be  a  business  woman. 
Daphne  had  listened  to  it. 

But,  after  all,  her  intentions  were  honorable  and  others 
who  had  succeeded  had  followed  the  same  path.  As  the 
world  is  run  to-day,  there  was  no  other  method  to  adopt. 
She  felt  as  the  other  women  felt  who  scorned  the  oldest 
profession  in  the  world  and  sought  their  livelihood  from 
the  newest.  They  were  escaping  pretty  slaveries,  vol- 
untary or  involuntary.  They  were  taking  pride  in  trade 
and  in  selling  other  wares  than  themselves.  They  were 
setting  their  names  on  plate-glass  windows  and  in  flaring 
advertisements  in  the  newspapers,  rather  than  tamely  sur- 
render their  names  and  their  identities  to  anonymous 
dependence  on  men. 

All  over  the  earth  they  shone:  Countess  So-and-So, 
Lady  This-hyphen-That,  Les  Sceurs  Telle  et  Telle,  Hetty 
and  Elsie,  and  Mary  Elizabeth,  Ida  and  Alice  and  Maude 
and  Anne,  widows — weed  and  grass,  old  maids  and  young, 
wives  and  fiancees,  women  of  every  character  and  origin , 
were  invading  business;  pretty  Huns,  silken  Vandals, 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

buxom  Goths  moving  upon  the  old  citadels  of  masculine 
civilization. 

In  New  York  City  alone  there  were  over  six  hundred 
thousand  women  earning  wages.  In  the  United  States 
six  million.  And  the  quality  of  their  work  had  risen  with 
like  rapidity.  Half  a  century  before  only  one  per  cent, 
of  women  wage-earners  were  in  occupations  as  good  as 
clerical.  In  1915  there  were  fourteen  per  cent.  They 
could  not  all  marry,  for  there  were  forty  thousand  more 
women  than  men  in  New  York,  and  in  some  other  cities 
the  disproportion  was  more  fatal. 

Yet  they  were  not  wrecking  the  homes,  for  while  divorce 
had  increased  one-tenth  of  one  per  cent.,  marriage  had  in- 
creased two  per  cent.,  and  child-bearing  two  per  cent. 
How  could  the  home  be  less  sacred  or  less  popular  because 
the  wives  were  ambitious  and  busy?  They  might  wait 
longer  to  marry,  but  they  would  not  be  denied  the  bless- 
ings of  the  hearth  or  its  modern  substitute  the  domestic 
radiator. 

And  what  boots  it  to  applaud  or  bewail  it?  It  is  a 
convulsion  of  nature.  As  well  scold  Europe  for  going  to 
war.  The  fact  is  it  went  to  war,  and  who  was  to  stop  it  ? 
Wise  people  are  those  who  accept  the  tide  or  the  earth- 
quake and  devote  themselves  to  profiting  by  it  or  escap- 
ing it,  not  to  denouncing  it. 


CHAPTER  LXVIII 

DAPHNE  was  troubled  about  many  things,  but  after 
all  her  troubles  were  not  the  corrosive,  morbid 
anguishes  of  love  in  idleness;  not  the  parasitic  mental 
diseases  of  a  dependent  on  a  man's  favor  or  temper  or 
honor;  not  the  petty  worries  of  a  soul  whose  parish  is  a 
kitchen,  a  nursery,  and  an  infrequently  visited  parlor, 
and  whose  time-table  is  the  off-hours  of  a  man. 

She  was  trying  to  earn  what  she  should  spend,  rather 
than  kiss  or  quarrel  it  out  of  a  father,  a  lover,  or  a  husband. 
She  was  fighting  for  and  against  things  and  conditions 
and  dollars  and  competitors;  inventing  a  market  and 
devising  ways  and  means  to  control  it.  It  was  brain- 
racking,  but  it  was  better  than  heart-racking. 

In  the  swirl  of  her  tasks  she  almost  forgot  Clay  Wim- 
burn.  She  was  too  busy  to  care  much.  She  had  no  time 
to  mourn.  Clay  was  only  one  among  a  myriad  regrets, 
and  his  affairs  could  wait.  Her  business  needs  could  not. 

She  had  barely  managed  to  dispose  of  Tom  Duane's 
bid  for  her  hand.  When  she  got  round  to  it  she  com- 
posed a  note  in  the  least  commercial  of  styles.  Business 
woman  though  she  was,  she  could  not  withhold  her  em- 
phases or  her  underlinings.  She  wrote: 

DEAR  MR.  DUANE, — You  paid  me  a  wonderful  compliment 
and  I  am  awfully  grateful  for  it,  but  I  am —  Well,  I  don't 
know  just  what  to  say.  Your  mother  was  a  darling  and  I 
felt  oh,  so  honored  by  her  beautiful  hospitality,  and  she  is  such 
a  beautiful  woman,  but — oh,  please  understand  me! — I  just 
can't  make  my  heart  obey  my  brain.  One  or  the  other  is  too 
small,  or  both. 

473 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

But  I  do  like  you  more  than  you  will  believe — too  much,  in 
fact,  to  take  advantage  of  your  good  impulses.  You  will 
find  somebody  else  far  more  attractive  than  me,  but  I  hope 
you  won't  forget  how  much  I  wish  to  be 

Your  very  sincere  friend, 

DAPHNE  KIP. 

Thus  Daphne  jilted  Duane.  He  was  shocked  numb, 
for  his  hopes  had  gone  soaring.  His  mother  was  mor- 
tally insulted,  though  she  tried  to  make  light  of  it. 

"I'm  jilted,  too,"  she  laughed.  "If  she  hadn't  seen 
me  she  might  have  accepted  you." 

But  after  the  first  bitterness  they  both  realized  that 
Daphne  was  at  least  not  to  be  had  for  the  mere  asking. 
Duane  loved  her  better  than  ever  when  he  recovered  from 
the  first  collapse.  He  was  more  determined  than  ever  to 
win  her. 

He  had  no  rivalry  from  Clay,  for  Clay  did  not  come 
near  her.  He  spent  a  lot  of  money  trying  to  get  her  off 
his  mind.  He  got  a  good  deal  on  his  conscience,  but  not 
Daphne  off  his  mind.  He  longed  for  her  especially,  too, 
because  there  came  a  sudden  disaster  to  his  schemes. 
He  was  not  so  rich  as  he  had  been.  Indeed,  he  could  not 
be  sure  that  he  was  rich  at  all.  Any  day  might  smother 
him  with  bankruptcy.  This  fear  kept  him  from  Daphne, 
too. 

The  bouncing  munition  stocks  that  were  known  as 
"war  babies"  had  abruptly  fallen  into  a  decline.  The 
submarine  that  torpedoed  the  Lusitania  shattered  Wall 
Street's  joy,  threw  the  dread  of  war  into  the  United  States, 
and  set  every  one  to  questioning  the  problem  of  revenge 
and  its  cost. 

The  slump  in  the  market  came  at  the  most  unfortunate 
moment  for  Bayard  and  Clay.  Any  moment  of  slump, 
indeed,  would  have  come  most  untimely,  for  their  success 
depended  on  their  success. 

In  his  bewilderment  Clay  bethought  him  of  markets 
further  west,  and  he  set  out  on  a  tour  of  factories  in 

474 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Cleveland,  Detroit,  and  Chicago.  In  Cleveland  his 
thoughts  were  dour,  for  there  was  where  his  romance  had 
blossomed  in  such  pink  flowers  with  such  acritude  of 
fruit. 

He  saw  Daphne's  father  and  mother  float  by  in  a  big 
touring-gondola.  They  were  sitting  up  importantly  be- 
hind a  chauffeur  of  their  own.  Clay  felt  like  stopping 
them  to  remind  them  that  they  owed  the  car  and  all 
their  prosperity  to  him.  But  he  lacked  the  vicious 
courage. 

In  a  tenderer  humor  he  was  impelled  to  run  after  the  car 
and  ask  how  Daphne  was  and  send  her  his  love;  but  he 
lacked  that  courage,  too. 

He  left  Cleveland  and  went  on  to  Detroit,  where  there 
was  no  one  to  tell  him  that  Daphne  had  turned  Duane 
away  and  was  trying  to  be  a  business  man. 

And  there  was  no  one  to  tell  him  that  Bayard  was 
looking  for  him  in  frantic  eagerness  to  borrow  money  from 
him. 


CHAPTER  LXIX 

IP  AND  CHIVVIS"  were  making  a  picnic-ground 
of  the  shop.  Behind  the  soap -veiled  windows 
they  laughed  and  debated  on  arrangements  and  price- 
tags  and  show-cards.  There  was  rapture  in  seeing  the 
janitor  nail  up  the  pretty  signboard,  and  watching  the 
letter-artist  with  the  mall-stick  sit  in  the  window  and 
paint  their  names  delicately  in  gold-leaf. 

Mr.  Chiwis,  still  out  of  a  job,  acted  as  maid  of  all  work 
and  stevedore,  and  grew  so  useful  that  they  had  to  put 
him  out.  And  at  last  the  moment  arrived  when  they 
declared  the  shop  open,  "raised  the  curtain,"  as  Daphne 
said. 

She  waited  with  a  stage-fright  she  had  not  felt  in 
Reben's  theater.  There  was  no  lack  of  temperament 
in  her  manner  now.  But  there  was  no  audience,  either. 

On  the  first  forenoon  not  one  human  being  crossed  the 
threshold.  In  the  afternoon  a  short-sighted  woman 
looking  for  a  pet-dog  store  drifted  in  by  mistake,  and 
seemed  to  blame  Daphne  and  Mrs.  Chiwis  for  setting 
their  shop  on  the  spot  where  she  expected  to  find  the 
canine  palace.  Also  a  girl  entered  to  inquire  her  way  to  a 
rival  establishment,  and  a  blouzy  female  rolled  in,  sat 
down,  and  tried  to  buy  a  drink  and  take  a  much-needed 
nap  on  the  premises.  Their  first  customer  had  to  be 
ejected  diplomatically. 

At  night  Kip  and  Chiwis  locked  their  doors  and  went 
home,  discouraged  beyond  words  and  dismally  weary  in 
the  legs,  also  in  the  smile-muscles  which  had  been  kept 
at  an  expectant  tension  all  day  long. 

476 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

On  the  second  day  the  place  was  more  frequented.  A 
number  of  men  with  things  to  sell  broke  in.  Some  of 
them  attempted  flirtations  with  an  impudence  that  even 
Mrs.  Chivvis  could  not  congeal. 

Two  women  actually  entered  with  intent  to  purchase. 
They  ransacked  the  limited  stock  without  finding  any- 
thing just  to  their  liking.  They  declined  to  have  any- 
thing made  or  sent  for.  They  said  they  would  look 
"elsewhere"  and  come  back  later.  The  partners  learned 
that  those  who  would  "come  back  later"  never  came 
back.  Elsewhere  became  a  word  of  hateful  meaning,  a 
gloomy  realm  from  whose  bourne  no  customer  returned. 

The  partners  began  to  abhor  "womanliness"  as  it  is 
revealed  in  "just  looking  round"  and  in  shopping  for  the 
fun  of  it,  and  in  garrulous  discussions  over  colors  and 
shades  and  matchings  and  cuttings.  Daphne  saw  herself 
now  as  she  had  once  been,  an  aisle-rover,  a  waster  of  sales- 
folks'  wages  and  nerves,  a  vagrant  without  visible  means 
of  support,  the  means  of  support  being  some  invisible  man, 
old  or  young,  at  work  elsewhere. 

Daphne  became  a  woman-hater,  at  least  of  the  Womanly 
Woman.  She  wanted  to  scream  and  scratch  at  some  of 
the  loafers  who  took  her  time  and  paid  nothing  for  it, 
who  treated  her  with  condescension  because  she  was 
trying  to  make  her  money  honorably  instead  of  woman- 
ishly. 

She  began  to  understand  why  shop-girls  are  impudent 
as  a  class  and  why  they  grow  absent-minded  and  con- 
temptuous and  deaf  and  indifferent.  She  knew  what  it 
was  to  wrestle  with  a  temptation  to  reach  across  her 
counter  and  tear  a  double  handful  of  fuzz  from  the  slender 
skulls  of  some  of  her  annoyers.  She  could  hardly  keep 
from  ordering  them  out  of  the  shop,  or  snatching  the 
goods  they  fumbled  with  from  their  lazy  hands  and  refus- 
ing to  sell  them  at  all. 

Occasional  purchases  were  made,  but  unimportant. 
Kip  and  Chivvis  tried  to  learn  what  interested  people  and 

477 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

what  did  not.  They  realized  that  they  had  far  too  much 
of  certain  things  and  far  too  little  of  others.  They  at- 
tempted to  sell  the  deadwood  by  marking  it  down ;  but  it 
would  not  move.  They  learned  that,  in  fashions  es- 
pecially, people  want  what  they  want  and  would  rather 
pay  double  for  it,  than  take  what  they  are  not  taking  at 
half  its  cost. 

"What  do  the  women  care  for  prices?"  Daphne  railed. 
"They  are  spending  some  man's  money,  anyway.  They 
pretend  that  it's  to  please  him,  but  they  know  and  we 
know  that  it's  because  they  hate  each  other." 

The  wares  that  sold  best  were  the  things  of  their  own 
make,  things  sewn  with  personality.  But  Kip  and 
Chiwis  were  too  tired  to  renew  their  own  toil  at  night. 
They  put  exorbitant  prices  on  the  remnant  of  their 
handiwork.  And  that  made  it  sell  better. 

One  day  a  great  lady  who  could  hardly  squeeze  through 
the  door  creaked  into  the  shop  and  spilled  herself  into  a 
startled  little  chair  like  a  load  of  coal.  She  fanned  herself 
with  her  fineries,  as  if  pleading  for  breath,  and  groaned 
miserably.  Daphne  felt  that  she  wTas  about  to  die  on  their 
hands  or  ask  for  an  ambulance,  but  she  asked  instead  for 
an  embroidered  breakfast-gown  from  the  window. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  fetched  it  and  the  old  ogress  clutched  it 
from  her,  holding  it  up  to  her  nose  as  if  to  sniff  it,  but  really 
to  see  it. 

"That's  it!  That's  what  I've  been  looking  for!"  she 
wheezed.  "Have  you  got  much  of  this  sort  of  thing?" 

Mrs.  Chiwis  was  about  to  confess  the  cold  truth  that 
they  had  next  to  none.  Daphne  intervened  with  sales- 
womanly  enthusiasm:  "Oh  yes.  It's  a  specialite  de  la 
maison." 

She  thought  the  old  lady  would  like  a  little  French,  and 
she  received  a  couple  of  twinkling  sparkles  from  the 
wrinkles  and  a  sigh  of  sepulchral  relief. 

' '  Agh,  that's  good !  My  daughter  is  marrying  in  some 
478 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

haste — a  young  imbecile  who's  going  over  to  France  to 
run  a  motor-ambulance.  I'm  Mrs.  Romilly." 

Mrs.  Chiwis  waited  unperturbed  for  further  identifica- 
tion. Daphne  had  never  heard  of  Mrs.  Romilly,  either, 
but  she  gasped  as  if  she  had  been  saying  her  prayers  at  the 
shrine  of  Romilly  from  childhood  and  now  had  been 
visited  by  the  patron  saint,  whom  she  had  recognized  at 
once,  of  course. 

"Oh  yes,  of  course.  I  think  I  read  something  of  the 
engagement,"  she  said.  That  was  a  bad  guess. 

"No — you  didn't.  At  least  I  think  not.  Anyway, 
I've  got  to  get  the  wretch  as  much  of  a  trousseau  as  I  can 
sling  together  in  a  few  days.  Paris  is  rather  quiet,  and 
she  won't  need  many  outer  clothes,  but — er — under- 
things,  you  know." 

"Oh  yes,  indeed,"  Daphne  panted.  She  threw  Mrs. 
Chiwis  a  glance  that  said,  "You  remember  what  I  told 
you  about  nice  people  wearing  them." 

Mrs.  Romilly  was  choughing  on:  "I've  been  to  several 
shops,  and  I  was  almost  in  despair  until  I  saw  your  sign. 
If  you  could  do  a  few  things  in  rather  a  hurry  I  fancy  I 
could  give  you  a  large-ish  order.  And  if  the  things  were 
at  all  successful,  I  could  throw  quite  a  little  trade  your 
way.  You're  rather  new,  aren't  you?" 

Daphne  noted  that  she  had  a  habit  of  diminishing  all 
her  adjectives.  She  hoped  she  would  not  diminish  her 
prices.  She  assented  that  the  firm  was  quite  new.  She 
brought  forward  an  order-pad  and  stood  at  attention. 
Mrs.  Chiwis  was  trying  to  signal  to  Daphne  that  the 
whole  thing  was  wildly  impossible,  but  fortunately  a 
young  woman  came  in  and  occupied  twenty  minutes 
of  Mrs.  Chiwis'  time  discussing  a  problem  in  Cubist 
colors. 

Mrs.  Romilly  had  trousseaued  a  large  family  of  children 
and  several  poor  relations.  She  knew  what  she  wanted 
and  what  she  ought  to  pay  for  it  and  when  it  should  be 
done.  Daphne  took  down  her  orders  as  if  the  little  room 

479 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

were  the  mere  vestibule  to  an  enormous  sweatshop  where 
hundreds  of  sempsters  would  seize  the  job  and  complete 
it  in  a  jiffy. 

Mrs.  Romilly  finished  her  wholesale  order  before  Mrs. 
Chivvis'  shopper  had  decided  to  look  Elsewhere  and  come 
back  later.  She  wheezed  out  like  a  grand  old  automobile 
of  an  early  model. 

When  they  were  alone  the  partners  gazed  at  Daphne's 
list  and  then  at  each  other. 

"What  on  earth  made  you  take  it?"  Mrs.  Chivvis  ex- 
claimed. "You  know  we  can't  fill  it." 

"Can't  is  a  word  that  no  true  business  lady  will  use. 
We're  going  to  fill  it." 

"But  how?" 

"Darned  if  I  know,  but —  Well,  we'll  have  to  get  a  lot 
of  sewing-women  in  and  sit  up  nights." 

"But  the  material.  We  can't  buy  those  things  on 
credit." 

"Then  I'll  borrow  cash  and  pay  for  it." 

"Borrow  where?  You  said  you  wouldn't  trouble  your 
brother." 

"I'm  not  responsible  for  what  I  have  said  or  may  say. 
Besides,  I  don't  mind  going  to  Bayard,  now  that  I  can  go 
with  success.  I'll  call  on  him  in  a  business  way  and  offer 
him  interest  and  all  that.  I  guess  Mrs.  Romilly 's  name  is 
good  enough  collateral." 

"But  who  is  she?    Where  does  she  live?" 

"  I  forgot  to  ask  her.     Look  in  the  telephone-book." 

Mrs.  Chivvis  clawed  the  pages,  and  reported,  "She's 
not  here,"  as  if  that  finished  her. 

But  Daphne  brightened:  "Then  she  must  be  a  big  bug. 
The  best  of  them  are  not  listed." 

"But  she  ought  to  have  a  husband  or  something." 

"Maybe  he's  too  rich  to  work." 

"But—" 

"Anyway,  Bayard  will  know.  He  knows  all  the  im- 
portant men  in  New  York.  And  Leila  knows  all  the 

480 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

women.  I  think  I'll  run  right  down  now  and  lunch  with 
him." 

She  pinned  a  coquettish  hat  to  her  uncommercial  poll, 
thrust  her  arms  into  her  graceful  jacket,  and  sped  toward 
the  subway,  looking  like  anything  imaginable  but  a 
business  person  seeking  funds  for  a  large  contract. 

16 


CHAPTER  LXX 

ALL  unconscious  of  Daphne's  affairs,  Bayard  was  ap- 
proaching his  office   with  the   brisk   manner   of   a 
triumphant  capitalist.     But  that  was  bluff  for  outward 
effect.     He  was  actually  dizzy  with  loss  of  bearings  and 
control. 

Bayard  had  carried  heavier  burdens  than  Clay,  and 
under  the  sting  of  Leila's  whip  had  taken  greater  risks 
for  higher  prizes. 

.  When  the  abrupt  depression  in  the  upward  swing  of 
prosperity  jolted  him  out  of  his  seat  he  was  nauseated  with 
remorse  at  his  repetition  of  his  old  mistake.  The  reserve 
he  had  vowed  he  would  build  up  had  been  put  off  and  put 
off  from  to-morrow  to  the  morrow  of  to-morrow. 

Fortune  had  forgiven  him  his  earlier  prodigalities  and 
taken  him  back  into  her  favor.  But  he  had  scattered  his 
gains  once  more  and  now  she  would  none  of  him. 

He  had  not  told  Leila  of  his  anxieties.  She  had  lost  the 
privilege  of  hearing  his  anxieties.  He  bluffed  even  her. 

They  were  living  now  in  a  state  of  armed  neutrality. 
Yet  he  was  less  willing  to  alarm  her  than  if  they  had  been 
on  their  old  terms.  Of  nights  he  lay  awake  for  hours  at 
her  side,  not  daring  to  move  lest  he  waken  her,  not  daring 
to  groan  or  stretch  out  his  arms  appealingly  to  the  dread- 
ful gloom  that  was  crowded  with  menaces.  There  are  no 
tragedies  or  nightmares  more  terrible  than  those  a  business 
man  endures  in  his  sleepless  nights. 

Bayard  knew  that  Leila  was  gadding  about  and  revel- 
ing in  gaieties,  spending  a  fortune  in  new  costumes,  and 
finding  herself  with  less  and  less  sufficing  clothes  the  more 

482 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDiMENT 

she  bought.  He  was  afraid  to  add  to  his  exhausted  soul 
the  burden  of  worrying  over  his  wife's  conduct  or  to  heed 
his  jealousy  when  it  whispered  to  him  that  she  was  on 
far  too  friendly  terms  with  Wetherell. 

Even  to  mention  his  suspicions  of  the  man  would 
obligate  him  to  smash  Wetherell  with  his  fists  or  kill  him. 
And  he  dared  not  have  a  breach  with  Wetherell  now, 
because  Wetherell  with  his  pockets  full  of  contracts  was 
Bayard's  final  hope. 

Wetherell  might  cancel  some  of  the  agreements  already 
entered  into  or  delay  the  payments.  Delay  would  be  as 
terrible  almost  as  complete  default,  for  Bayard  had 
drawn  some  of  his  commissions  in  advance  from  his  own 
firm,  and  used  them  as  collateral  for  loans  at  the  bank. 

The  crash  in  the  Street  had  found  him  so  extended  that 
he  could  not  recover  without  additional  help.  That  very 
morning  one  of  his  brokers  had  called  on  him  for  a  renewal 
of  margins.  He  had  to  have  five  thousand  dollars  or  he 
would  lose  fifty. 

All  of  his  friends  were  on  the  same  hunt.  Those  who 
had  not  speculated  were  carrying  heavy  factory  charges 
for  which  they  could  not  be  reimbursed  for  months  ahead. 
Wiseacres  had  said  that  this  whole  prosperity  was  only  an 
artificial  hysteria  and  that  America  would  have  to  share 
the  financial  woes  of  Europe. 

Rebuffed  from  every  door,  Bayard  had  gone  to  Wether- 
ell's  office — a  mysterious  sort  of  place  surrounded  by 
guards  and  secret-service  men  to  ward  off  the  menace 
of  spies,  real  and  imaginary. 

Bayard  had  unusual  difficulty  in  passing  the  lines.  The 
reason  he  soon  learned.  A  new  man  was  in  charge  in 
WetherelTs  place,  a  retired  British  officer  whose  natural 
and  affected  gruffness  was  aggravated  by  the  unpleasant 
nature  of  his  tasks.  He  had  only  one  eye.  Over  the 
other  he  wore  a  frosted  monocle,  and  his  glare  had  the 
look  of  a  revolver  muzzle. 

He  made  Bayard  describe  who  and  what  he  was  and 

483 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

what  he  wanted.  Only  Bayard's  desperation  gave  him 
strength  to  ask  this  old  Cyclops  for  an  advance  on  new 
contracts. 

Colonel  Marchmont's  nostrils  shivered  like  a  horse's  as 
he  snorted:  "New  contracts?  New  contracts?  God 
bless  me,  man,  we're  going  to  cancel  the  old !  The  man 
Wetherell  is  a  rascal,  sir,  a  confounded  sharper.  We'd 
expose  him  and  prosecute  him  if  it  were  not  for  the  joy 
it  would  give  the  Germans.  If  we  can  get  him  home  we'll 
quietly  shoot  him  for  the  dog  he  is.  He  took  commis- 
sions on  all  sides — treasonable  it  was  of  him,  with  England 
in  such  need!  And  he  has  passed  over  to  us  cargoes  of 
rotten  Yankee  goods  that  had  to  be  condemned  out  of 
hand.  We've  taken  away  his  license  to  deal  in  munitions, 
and  he's  liable  for  contravention  of  the  defense  of  the 
realm  regulations.  And  some  of  the  people  who  signed 
contracts  with  him  may  be  prosecuted  in  this  country." 

Bayard  blazed  at  this:  "My  factory  is  as  honorable  as 
the  Bank  of  England.  We  guarantee  our  goods.  We 
welcome  any  investigation." 

"Perhaps,  perhaps.  That  remains  to  be  seen.  But  at 
the  present  we're  holding  up  all  payments,  all  shipments, 
all  orders.  Is  that  quite  clear?  If  you  have  any  in- 
formation to  give  as  to  the  crookedness  of  this  bounder, 
we'd  welcome  it,  but  that  is  all  we  can  consider  for  the 
present.  Good  day,  sir." 

Bayard  went  away  in  a  stupor.  He  had  intelligence 
enough  to  feel  that  he  could  less  safely  attack  Wetherell 
now  than  before.  He  would  seem  to  be  implicated  in  the 
fellow's  malfeasance.  He  would  only  advertise  to  his 
creditors  that  his  vaunted  contracts  were  worthless. 
Business  men  will  endure  much  to  escape  such  publication 
of  their  wrongs. 

Bayard  kept  his  head  high  till  he  reached  his  own  office. 
Then  he  fell  into  his  chair  and  propped  his  elbows  on  his 
desk  and  gripped  his  hot  brows  in  his  hands  as  if  he  were 
holding  his  skull  together.  It  is  the  business  man's 

484 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

attitude  of  prayer.  He  was  trying  to  rally  his  courage  by 
appealing  to  the  vague  deity  of  circumstances,  confessing 
his  financial  sins  and  promising  a  pure  commercial  life 
henceforth  if  he  were  saved  but  this  once  more. 

It  was  thus  that  Daphne  found  him  when  she  opened 
the  door  narrowly  and  closed  it  behind  her  as  softly  as 
La  Tosca.  She  was  beaming  with  affection  and  impor- 
tance, and  when  at  her  mischievous  "Ahem!"  Bayard 
looked  up  she  was  so  pretty  that  he  forgot  himself  long 
enough  to  smile  and  rush  forward  to  embrace  her. 

"What  brings  you  way  down  here?"  he  laughed,  leading 
her  caressingly  to  a  chair. 

"I  don't  know  any  other  place  to  find  you,"  she  said. 
"You're  never  home." 

"That's  so,"  he  sighed.  "How's  Clay?  Seen  him 
lately?" 

"Er — no — not  very." 

"He's  out  West  somewhere,  I  think — been  gone  some 
time." 

"Er— yes." 

She  was  wondering  how  to  state  her  errand  when  the 
telephone  rang.  It  startled  Bayard  strangely.  He 
caught  it  to  his  lips  as  a  toper  lifts  a  glass.  He  pressed 
the  receiver  to  his  ear  and  evidently  recognized  the  voice 
that  said  "Hello"  from  somewhere. 

He  answered  in  monosyllables  of  the  least  importance, 
but  Daphne  heard  gloom  in  them. 

"Hello! — Oh  yes! — No. — Yes,  I  know. — Yes.  I  know. 
—It's  too  bad — I  can't  help  it — that's  part  of  the  day's 
work. — Of  course. — All  right." 

That  sigh  of  "all  right"  was  the  most  eloquent  state- 
meant  of  all  wrong  that  Daphne  could  imagine.  It  set  her 
heart  to  beating  with  pity  for  him  and  with  alarm  for 
herself. 

Bayard  hung  up  the  receiver,  pushed  the  telephone  away 
as  a  bitter  cup,  and  laughed  sheepishly. 

485 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Great  convenience,  the  telephone!  Just  learned  that 
I've  dropped  more  money  than  I  ever  hoped  to  have. 
'For  want  of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost.'  Oh  well,  it  saves 
me  from  spending  it  foolishly.  But  if  I'd  had  five 
thousand  dollars —  My  God!  if  I'd  had  five  thousand 
dollars.  Do  you  know  anybody  who  can  lend  a  rising 
young  capitalist  the  price  of  a  shave?  You  haven't  got 
that  thousand  I  gave  you,  or  any  part  of  it,  have  you? 
It  would  do  me  a  heap  of  good  just  now.  I  could  make  a 
killing  with  it — or  a  life-saving." 

Daphne  slumped.  "No,  honey,  I  haven't  got  it.  I — 
I've  spent  it!" 

He  shook  his  head  over  her.  "All  you  pretty  little 
women  are  hell  on  money,  honey,  aren't  you?" 

"I  guess  so." 

She  wanted  to  justify  herself  out  of  the  class  he 
referred  to  by  telling  him  how  she  had  invested  his 
gift.  But  she  could  not  boast  of  that  without  con- 
fessing that  her  investment  was  gone  where  his  had 
gone  unless  he  could  help  her.  Plainly  he  could  not 
do  that.  So  she  resolved  to  spare  him  further  regrets. 
She  would  call  again  on  a  luckier  day.  She  could 
think  of  nothing  more  helpful  to  say  than  a  casual, 
"How's  Leila?" 

' '  Don't  ask  me !"  Bayard  smiled.     ' '  Tell  me. ' ' 

"  I  haven't  seen  her  for  days  and  days." 

"Then  you  don't  dance,  I  judge." 

"I  haven't  been  dancing  for  a  long  while." 

"Then  you  wouldn't  see  Leila.  Well,  what  can  I  do 
for  you,  honey,  before  I  go  to  take  some  nasty  medicine 
from  the  president?" 

"Nothing,  dear.  I  had  to  come  down-town  on  an  er- 
rand, so  I  thought  I'd  run  in  and  say  'hello.' " 

"Well,  hello!" 

"And  now  that  I've  said  it,  good-by." 

"Good-by,  honey.  You're  mighty  pretty.  Hear  any- 
thing from  home?" 

486 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Not  since  the  last  letter  from  mother  that  I  sent  down 
to  your  apartment.     Get  it?" 

"I  think  so.  Yes.  I  believe  so.  Well,  good-by." 
He  kissed  her  and  patted  her  back  with  doleful  tender- 
ness and  she  went  out  of  his  office  into  the  elevator.  Its 
iron-barred  door  and  its  clanking  chains  gave  it  a  con- 
genial prison  feeling,  and  the  bottomless  pit  it  dropped 
into  seemed  even  more  appropriate. 


CHAPTER  LXXI 

DAPHNE  wanted  to  run  away  from  her  thoughts  and 
she  walked  for  a  mile  or  two  up  the  deep  ravine  of 
Broadway.  She  dared  not  go  back  to  Mrs.  Chiwis  just 
yet  with  her  bad  news.  She  walked  till  her  body  grew 
hungry  in  spite  of  her  disgusted  soul.  She  bought  her- 
self an  expensive  luncheon  at  a  strange  down-town 
restaurant  full  of  business  men  and  apparent  stenog- 
raphers. 

Still  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  face  Mrs.  Chiwis. 
She  trudged  along  till  she  came  to  a  stratum  of  wholesale 
houses  and  jobbers  in  women's  wear.  She  spied  in  their 
windows  and  ventured  into  one  or  two  in  search  of  ideas. 
She  found  none  that  were  worth  stealing.  She  asked  a 
few  prices  and  discovered  how  she  could  save  some  money. 
But  she  had  to  get  it  to  save  it. 

She  thought  of  asking  Clay  for  a  loan.  She  swept  the 
appalling  idea  from  her  brain  with  a  puff  of  derision. 
Besides,  he  was  out  of  town,  Bayard  had  said.  She 
thought  of  asking  Tom  Duane  for  it.  She  tried  to  blow 
that  idea  from  her  mind,  but  it  kept  drifting  back  like  a 
bit  of  stubborn  thistle-down.  She  could  not  outwalk  it. 
She  kept  thinking  that  if  she  yielded  to  weak  scruples  it 
would  be  disloyal  to  Mrs.  Chiwis,  to  Mrs.  Romilly, 
to  Bayard,  to  herself,  to  her  thousand  dollars,  her  future, 
even  to  her  darling  little  child  of  a  shop. 

At  length  she  grew  so  desperate  that  she  stopped  at  a 
telephone-booth  and  brazenly  called  up  Duane's  number. 
He  chanced  to  be  at  home.  When  he  heard  her  voice  he 
cried: 

488 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

' '  Oh  Lord,  it's  good  to  hear  you.  Sing  again,  sing  again, 
nightingale!" 

"I'm  no  nightingale.  I'm  a  business  woman,  offering 
you  an  investment." 

"Hush!"  he  roared. 

"I  won't  hush.     You've  got  to  listen." 

"Well,  ain't  I  listenin'?" 

She  told  him  the  whole  story.  The  name  of  Mrs. 
Romilly  made  him  whistle.  "Old  Gorgon  Zola,"  he 
called  her,  and  added,  "You're  a  made  woman." 

"But  the  clothes  aren't  made,  and  I  can't  make  'em 
till  I  get  some  money.  Would  you — could  you  advance 
me  a  little  on  the  most  excellent  security?" 

"Haven't  I  already  offered  you  all  I've  got  on  the  worst 
security  in  the  world — marriage?" 

"This  is  business.  If  you  insist  on  anything  else,  it's 
all  off.  Anyway,  think  of  all  I've  saved  you  by  not  marry- 
ing you." 

"You've  saved  me  from  heaven  and  kept  me  in — 
All  right,  Central,  I  won't  say  it." 

"Good-by.     I'm  sorry  to  have  troubled  you." 

"Wait,  wait!  I'll  surrender.  Your  voice  alone  is 
worth  a  thousand  dollars  a  note.  How  much  do  you 
want?  Where  shall  I  bring  it?" 

"Mail  two — er — five  hundred  dollars  to  the  shop,  will 
you?  And  I  can  never  thank  you  enough." 

"Hush.  It's  me  that  thanks  you.  Don't  you  want 
more?" 

"No,  thanks." 

"  It  will  be  there  in  the  early  mail  and  I  may  call  round 
later  to  put  a  mortgage  or  something  on  the  place." 

"Good-by,"  she  chuckled,  and  hung  up  the  receiver. 
She  was  crying  softly  as  she  stole  from  the  blessed  booth, 
and  she  looked  less  like  a  successful  business  woman  than 
ever. 

She  swept  along  Broadway  in  lyrical  humor  till  she 

489 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

remembered  Mrs.  Chiwis.  She  stopped  again  to  tele- 
phone her  and  to  say  that  she  was  too  tired  to  come  to 
the  shop.  She  said  she  was  going  to  call  it  a  day's  work 
and  go  home  to  make  Caruso  sing  to  her  from  the  victrola 
where  she  had  him  caged. 

She  took  a  taxicab  home.  As  she  paid  the  man  and 
tipped  him  well  she  noted  that  a  big  English  car  was 
standing  at  the  curb. 

Something  made  her  think  of  Wetherell.  She  remem- 
bered her  dread  of  him,  and  Bayard's  bitter  allusions  to 
Leila's  neglect.  She  felt  that  she  ought  to  do  some- 
thing for  that  home  of  her  brother's.  But  what  could 
she  do? 

She  stopped  off  at  Bayard's  floor  and  rang  the  bell. 
Leila's  new  butler  admitted  her  with  pomp.  Daphne 
walked  past  him  into  the  drawing-room.  Leila  and 
Wetherell  were  standing  there  in  heavy  coats.  They 
seemed  to  be  rather  close  together.  They  seemed  to  be  a 
little  shocked  at  seeing  Daphne.  She  was  horribly  hurt 
at  seeing  them,  but  she  chirruped: 

"Just  come  in?" 

"Just  going  out,"  Leila  answered,  kissing  Daphne 
nervously. 

"Where?"  Daphne  asked,  with  intrepidity,  as  she 
shook  hands  with  Wetherell — a  prize-fighter's  preliminary 
handshake  it  was. 

"Oh — er — just  motoring  about  a  bit." 

"Thanks — I'd  love  it,"  Daphne  dared  to  say,  almost 
as  much  amazed  as  they  were  at  hearing  her  accept  the 
invitation  that  had  not  been  given. 

Leila  tried  to  escape:  "We  were  thinking  of  going  down 
on  Long  Island  for  dinner.  Bayard  is  not  coming  home, 
he  telephoned.  So  I  thought — we  thought — 

"Fine!"  said  Daphne.  "I  need  a  breath  of  air  and  a 
good  jouncing." 

"We've  only  got  the  runabout,  you  know,"  said 
Wetherell. 

490 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Three  can  sit  in  that  front  seat  easily,"  said  Daphne. 
"Leila  and  I  are  both  slim." 

She  was  quite  shameless  from  their  point  of  view,  but 
she  felt  that  it  would  be  unpardonable  to  let  her  brother's 
wife  go  unrebuked  or  at  least  unaided  and  unchaperoned 
on  a  cruise  so  perilous  to  reputation  if  not  to  character. 

Heroism  and  duty  are  never  more  difficult  than  when 
they  require  meddling  with  some  one's  else  affairs,  par- 
ticularly with  affairs-in-law. 

But  Daphne  went  along. 

Leila  wanted  to  slap  her  over,  but  she  dared  not  protest. 
Leila  was  in  the  ugly  craven  mood  of  a  soul  fooling  with 
temptation.  She  had  committed  no  material  breach  of  the 
trust  that-  Bayard  was  expected  to  place  in  her  beyond 
the  loathsome  flippancy  in  honor  that  consents  even  to  a 
light  flirtation. 

When  Wetherell  had  tried  to  embrace  her  she  had 
dodged  away  from  him.  When  he  had  tried  to  kiss  her 
she  had  boxed  his  ears  fairly  well.  When  he  had  spoken 
too  fervently  she  had  told  him  that  he  insulted  her.  But 
she  had  continued  to  meet  him. 

Part  of  his  charm  for  her  was  that  he  kept  telling  her 
how  she  helped  him.  He  loved  to  discuss  his  plans  with 
her,  and  as  these  were  superb  they  were  interesting. 
He  told  her  his  risks,  and  they  were  dramatic  to  her  be- 
cause they  were  enhanced  by  the  danger  of  lawless  pos- 
sibility in  their  relations  to  each  other. 

Bayard  had  usually  made  the  husbandly  stupid  mistake 
of  telling  Leila  only  so  much  of  his  business  as  was  neces- 
sary to  curb  her  extravagance  and  quench  her  dreams. 
Latterly  he  had  told  her  nothing.  Besides,  a  husband's 
business  affairs  are  as  trite  and  daily  as  bread-and-butter 
and  fried  eggs;  anybody's  else  business  is  caviar  or 
anchovies. 

The  long  rides  Leila  and  Wetherell  had  taken  together 
had  been  devoted  mainly  to  serious  talks.  They  even  dis- 
cussed poetry.  He  remembered  some  of  his  Etonian 

491 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Latin.  She  loved  to  hear  him  chant  Virgil  to  the  roll  of 
the  car.  She  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  his  correctness 
or  his  meaning,  but  she  loved  his  sonority. 

To-day  Wetherell  had  come  for  her  with  a  heavy  burden 
of  confession.  He  wanted  to  tell  Leila  of  his  disgrace. 
He  felt  no  sense  of  evil  in  what  he  had  done.  He  was  as 
indignant  at  his  superiors  as  they  at  him.  But  he  wanted 
to  tell  Leila  everything.  He  felt  that  she  would  sym- 
pathize with  him.  He  had  grown  to  depend  on  her. 
There  might  be  public  scandal.  He  wanted  to  get  his 
version  before  her  first. 

And  now  her  little  cat  of  a  sister-in-law  had  to  break 
in.  Yet  he  dared  not  tell  Daphne  how  unwelcome  she 
was.  She  plainly  realized  it.  She  must  be  suspicious. 
To  forbid  her  to  come  along  would  assure  her  suspicions. 
The  only  way  to  delude  her  was  to  take  her  with  them  and 
show  her  how  circumspect  they  were. 

So  Daphne  went  along.  They  hated  her  and  she  hated 
herself  for  her  cantankerous  anachronism. 

While  she  was  at  the  miserable  business  she  decided  to 
make  a  good  job  of  it.  When  they  went  down  to  the  car 
she  squeezed  in  between  Leila  and  Wetherell.  Leila 
blanched  with  jealousy  and  cold  rage.  Daphne  com- 
pleted the  atrocity  by  murmuring  to  the  giant  she  had  to 
snuggle  against: 

"  It's  kind  of  Leila  to  come  along  and  chaperon  us,  isn't 
it?  It  makes  everything  so  proper  for  us  two  unattacheds." 

Wetherell  laughed,  metallically,  "Er — yes — quite  so." 

There  was  no  further  speech  in  the  car  till  they  had 
crossed  Fifty-ninth  Street  and  its  aerial  continuation  on 
the  mighty  Queensborough  Bridge  and  the  shabby  miles 
that  led  on  into  the  more  gracious  portions  of  Long  Island. 


CHAPTER  LXXII 

dined  at  Long  Beach  and  watched  the  dancers, 
1  in  sullen  mood.  Wetherell  ordered  much  cham- 
pagne and  would  not  listen  to  Leila's  pleas  that  he  let  it 
alone.  He  frightened  her  a  little  by  his  reckless  mood, 
and  Daphne  began  to  dread  the  journey  home  in  the 
dark  with  champagned  hands  on  the  steering-wheel. 

She  wished  she  had  minded  her  own  business.  She 
began  to  feel  that  she  was  to  be  punished  for  her  nasty 
altruism. 

She  invited  Wetherell  to  dance  with  her  to  get  him 
away  from  the  table  for  a  while.  He  held  her  gingerly 
enough,  for  he  was  afraid  of  Leila's  jealous  black  eyes,  or 
perhaps  he  was  like  the  favorite  hero  of  his  native  land, 
Launcelot. 

After  Daphne  and  he  had  executed  a  funeral  dance 
Leila  was  emboldened  to  step  out  with  him.  They  talked 
very  earnestly  and  he  seemed  to  horrify  her  by  what  he 
said  to  her.  Daphne  could  not  imagine  what  it  was. 
Bayard  had  not  told  her  of  Wetherell's  downfall  from 
power. 

Wetherell  confessed  his  disgrace  to  Leila  in  the  dance. 
This  sent  her  thoughts  into  vortices  of  bewilderment.  It 
would  have  been  different  if  he  could  have  told  her  when 
they  were  alone  in  romantic  environment  with  the  tragedy 
made  poetical. 

Daphne  had  turned  the  poetry  into  the  most  satirical 
prose.  Leila  saw  that  Daphne  suspected  her,  despised 
her  enough  to  try  to  protect  her.  Leila  now  was  a  mar- 
ried woman  caught  in  an  intrigue  by  her  sister-in-law. 

493 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

In  this  cynical  aspect  there  was  no  romance,  only  dis- 
gust. And  most  disgusting  of  all  was  her  lover's  confes- 
sion that  he  was  capable  of  financial  embarrassment  and 
was  culpable  in  the  eyes  of  his  own  country.  She  was  in 
intrigue  with  a  martyr  and  not  of  Nathan  Hale's  com- 
pany, but  of  Benedict  Arnold's  stripe. 

Leila  was  sickened  with  the  sordid  outcome  of  her 
romance.  She  had  played  with  fire  and  got  soot  on  her 
hands.  She  quit  the  dance  and  asked  to  be  taken  home. 

Wetherell  felt  that  she  had  turned  against  him  and  he 
reached  for  the  last  of  the  wine  to  fling  it  down  his  throat. 
Leila  grimly  took  it  from  his  fingers  and  emptied  it  in  the 
ice-bucket. 

"Chauffeurs  and  champagne  are  a  bad  combination," 
she  laughed,  but  there  was  a  sneer  on  her  lips. 

"Oh,  very  well!"  Wetherell  sneered  in  turn.  He  paid 
for  the  dinner  and  tipped  the  waiter  with  the  lavistfness 
of  a  bankrupt.  He  tipped  lavishly  the  man  who  guarded 
his  car,  and  swung  out  into  the  road  with  an  instant  speed 
that  would  have  been  prettier  if  there  had  been  less 
danger. 

There  was  a  crowd  of  automobiles  for  the  first  mile  and 
Wetherell  was  alternately  hilarious  and  truculent  in  his 
loud  comments  on  the  drivers  who  detained  his  im- 
patient soul.  At  the  first  important  turn  he  whirled 
the  car  to  the  east  instead  of  obeying  the  sign  that 
pointed  to  New  York. 

Both  Daphne  and  Leila  told  him  of  his  error,  but  he 
roared: 

"The  longest  was  round  is  the  homest  way  short —  I 
mean —  I  do'  know  what  I  mean — but  you  do.  Nice 
ni' for  liT  spin." 

Daphne  and  Leila  were  ashamed  to  be  with  him  and 
afraid  to  be  with  him.  Wisdom  told  them  to  make  him 
stop  and  let  them  out,  even  at  the  cost  of  walking  home. 
But  that  wisdom  is  never  heeded.  People  stick  to  risky 
things  with  a  tenacity  denied  to  worthier  objects. 

494 


WETHERELL  cried:    "Low  bridge!      Duck  pi 
to  each  other,  and  stared  into  the  blinding  h 


V- 


ads.  ev'body.    Whoopee!"     Daphne  and  Leila  dung 
ht  of  a  locomotive. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

The  every-day  dangers  are  regarded  with  contempt. 
Millions  of  ordinary  men  and  women  in  Europe  were 
undergoing  bombardment  as  if  it  were  sunshine.  Millions 
in  America  were  accepting  gratuitous  perils  without  any 
higher  motive  than  the  unwillingness  to  make  a  fuss. 

The  roads  were  full  of  motors  shooting  through  hazards 
with  a  nonchalance  that  would  have  seemed  incredible  if  it 
were  not  universal.  People  with  no  other  religious  instinct 
revealed. an  implicit  trust  in  God  at  every  corner  they 
darted  round  in  bland  ignorance  of  what  was  on  the  other 
side  of  it.  Miracles  of  escape  were  almost  infinitely 
numerous. 

But  they  were  not  all  evitable,  and  hideous  deaths  by 
motor  accident  furnished  the  chief  material  of  the  Monday 
morning  papers  because  on  Sundays  thousands  whose 
offices  kept  them  in  their  offices  were  enabled  to  make  a 
Brocken  Sabbath  of  the  once  peaceful  country  roads. 

The  surgeons  and  physicians  had  conquered  yellow 
fever  and  smallpox  only  to  have  the  exits  kept  crowded 
by  the  twentieth-century  plague  of  motoritis.  Timid 
women  who  feared  to  wet  their  feet  lest  they  catch  cold 
accepted  invitations  to  be  fired  along  the  highways  as 
from  cannon. 

Daphne  and  Leila  were  good  sports,  but  they  were  not 
merry.  Wetherell  furnished  all  the  merriment,  and  his 
was  from  wine  and  despair.  It  was  the  wine  that  brought 
out  the  truth.  He  had  to  tell  Daphne  what  he  had  told 
Leila,  of  his  misfortune  with  his  bally  old  government. 

He  asked  Daphne  to  explain  to  Bayard  how  sorry  he 
was  that  he  was  involved  in  the  crash. 

"Your  broth'  Bayard's  aw'fly  nice  fel',  Miss  Skip. 
He's  got  nicest  liT  wife  in  worl'.  Perf'ly  good  HT  girl. 
Straight  as  a  string — straight  as  they  make  'em.  No 
nonsense  about  liT  Leil'.  I  just  love  her — perf'ly  hon- 
or'ble  love.  I'd  do  anything  in  worl'  for  Leil' — or  liT 
Miss  Daffy — or  ol'  broth'  Bay'd.  Tell  him  'at,  will  you, 
like  a  goo'  liT  girl  ?  Tell  Bay'  'at,  will-11  ?" 

499 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Watch  out !"  Daphne  cried.  ' '  There's  a  railroad  cross- 
ing! Look — a  train's  coming.  Stop!" 

"Stop  for  nothin'.  No  HI'  Long  Isl'n'  train  goin'  stop 
this  KT  car  o'  mine!" 

"But  the  gates  are  down.  In  Heaven's  name, 
stop!" 

Daphne  was  afraid  to  put  out  her  hand  to  the  wheel, 
and  she  did  not  know  how  to  shut  off  the  power.  The 
madman  at  the  brakes  nudged  her  with  his  elbow  and 
hooted  the  horn  at  the  speeding  train  which  shrieked 
back  a  warning.  The  gateman  ran  forward  waving  his 
flag  and  yelling.  It  was  too  late  to  stop. 

Wetherell  cried:  "Low  bridge!  Duck  pretty  heads, 
ev'body.  Whoopee!" 

They  smote  the  long  arms  of  the  barrier  with  a  splitting 
sound  like  a  sudden  lightning.  There  was  a  rain  of 
splinters,  a  crackle  of  glass,  a  pounding  of  clubs,  and  they 
were  through. 

Then  they  crossed  the  tracks,  bumping  and  jouncing. 
Daphne  and  Leila  clung  to  each  other,  and  stared  into 
the  blinding  headlight  of  the  locomotive,  heard  the  clangor 
of  its  bell  and  the  scream  of  the  brakes.  They  did  not 
know  whether  they  were  alive  or  dead.  Then  the  oppo- 
site barrier  confronted  them,  bent,  cracked,  split*  splin- 
tered, pounded,  and  the  smooth  road  was  under  them 
again. 

The  train  shot  on  its  way  with  its  gleaming  windows 
and  its  bell  wailing  in  diminuendo.  Cool  darkness  re- 
sumed possession  and  their  hearts  beat  in  an  anguish  of 
relief. 

Now  Leila  cried,  raucously,  "Stop  this  car  this  minute, 
you  fool,  you  beast!  and  let  us  out." 

"  Don't  you  worr',  KT  girl.  Nothin'  harm  us.  I  won't 
let  anythin'  harm  you.  Remember  this  car  bears  a 
sharmed  life.  Fear  not,  pilot,  you  carry  Sheesar!" 

Leila  was  scared  beyond  dignity.  She  wept  and 
longed  for  Bayard.  She  feared  to  face  such  risk  in  com- 

500 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

pany  with  this  outlaw  against  her  duty  and  all  the  duties 
of  the  world. 

"I  want  to  go  home,"  she  moaned,  and,  turning  into 
Daphne's  arms,  sobbed  on  her  shoulder. 

Daphne  grew  furious.  She  felt  now  that  she  had 
justified  her  presence  here.  She  held  Leila  fast  in  her 
embrace  and  commanded  Wetherell.  "Slow  down  at 
once!  Do  you  hear?  Slow  down  this  car!" 

Wetherell  laughed:  "Bless  HT  heart.  I'm  goin'  take 
you  home.  You're  quite  shafe  with  me — quite.  Man 
that's  born  to  be  hanged  never  drown  or  get  automo- 
killed — that's  good  word — automokilled — eh,  what?" 

Daphne  could  think  of  nothing  to  do.  The  car  sped 
so  swiftly  that  it  would  be  certain  death  to  try  to  leap 
out.  It  was  useless  to  call  for  help  to  the  cars  that 
flared  past  like  flaming  projectiles  invisible  behind  their 
own  radiances. 

For  a  mile  or  two  they  ran  through  dreaming  scenery 
in  which  they  were  the  only  unpeaceful  thing.  Wetherell 
grew  quieter  now,  but  very  sad.  He  was  weeping  softly, 
mumbling  over  his  disgrace,  and  repenting  his  life,  prom- 
ising that  after  this  he  would  run  straight  and  be  honest 
and  poor.  He  was  afraid  he  could  never  go  back  to  his 
country,  and  he  kept  sighing,  "England,  my  England!" 
Then  the  thought  of  his  treason,  or  the  appearance  and 
accusation  of  it,  infuriated  him  and  he  sent  his  own  fury 
into  the  car. 

They  whipped  round  a  somber  jut  in  the  road,  and  his 
search-light  painted  instantly  in  white  outlines  against  the 
black  world  a  wagon-load  of  sleepy  children  returning  from 
some  village  church  affair.  They  were  singing,  drowsily, 
"Merrilee  we  ro-la-long-ro-la-long." 

Daphne  and  Leila  seemed  to  die  at  once. 

Wetherell  groaned,  "Oh,  my  God,  the  KT  chil'ren!" 

He  sounded  his  horn,  set  his  brakes.  The  startled 
driver  turned  to  see  and  drew  the  horses  right  across  the 
road. 

501 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

There  was  nothing  for  Wetherell  to  do  but  what  he  did. 
He  spun  his  wheel  and  drove  his  thunderbolt  into  an  open 
concrete  culvert.  There  was  a  furious  racket.  The  car 
turned  a  somersault  and  crumpled  in  a  shuddering  mass. 

Wetherell,  pinioned  under  the  wheel,  was  knocked  this 
way  and  that  and  his  beautiful  head  cracked  on  the  con- 
crete like  a  china  doll's. 

Leila  was  snatched  from  the  car  as  if  invisible  hands 
had  caught  her  exquisite  body  for  a  lash  to  flog  a  telephone 
pole  with,  then  threw  her  into  a  ditch.  Daphne  was 
flung  and  battered  and  thrust  under  the  car  when  it 
turned  over.  And  then  the  gasoline  spilled  from  the 
shattered  tank  and  caught  fire. 


CHAPTER  LXXIII 

MAN  is  a  machine  that  weeps,  and  hurts,  and  is  afraid; 
regrets,  repents,  and  is  held  liable  for  wrong.  Its 
inventor  taught  it  to  repair  itself  somewhat,  then  thrust 
upon  it  agony — agony  so  various  and  dire  that  a  mere 
respite  is  called  joy. 

The  man  machine  learned  to  make  other  machines  to 
serve  ambition  or  pleasure  or  laziness.  In  the  ditch  lay 
one  of  the  most  ingenious  of  these,  broken,  crumpled, 
aflame.  Perhaps — who  knows? — that  motor  also  suf- 
fered somehow,  since  it,  too,  was  a  complex  fabric,  a 
thing  of  life  undergoing  disintegration. 

Underneath  it  lay  the  relics  of  Wetherell,  who  would 
suffer  no  more  here.  Close  by  was  Daphne  Kip,  whom  a 
brief  unconsciousness  gave  a  short  furlough  from  torture. 
She  was  not  alive  enough  to  be  afraid  of  the  long,  lean 
flames  about  the  gasoline-tank,  though  they  kept  spring- 
ing at  her  like  wolf-hounds  held  in  a  weakening  leash. 
They  had  not  yet  quite  reached  her,  but  they  missed  her 
less  and  less. 

A  small  distance  off,  Leila  lay  still,  in  almost  her  first 
ungraceful  attitude,  oblivious  for  a  few  moments  of  the 
outrages  the  blind  forces  of  momentum  had  wreaked  on 
her  with  the  fury  of  a  Bill  Sikes  trying  to  beat  a  woman 
to  death. 

Of  the  four,  the  motor  alone  seemed  to  live.  Daphne, 
Leila,  and  Wetherell  were  equally  still,  all  alike,  except 
that  life  would  never  come  back  into  Wetherell's  veins 
with  its  regurgitation  of  anguish  and  dismay. 

It  is  a  part  of  the  new  ethics  which  the  automobile  has 
enforced,  that  the  driver  of  a  car  must  sacrifice  his  own 

503 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

passengers  rather  than  any  wayfarers  he  may  encounter. 
Wetherell  had  done  his  duty  according  to  the  canons  of 
his  day.  He  had  hurled  two  young  women  of  his  ac- 
quaintance into  the  very  jaws  of  death  rather  than  take  the 
lives  of  a  cargo  of  strangers'  children  unexpectedly  met  in 
the  highway.  Whatever  his  career  had  been,  Wetherell 
had  earned  at  least  the  epitaph  of  Polonius:  "They  say 
he  made  a  good  end." 

The  driver  of  the  wagonful  of  children  had  disobeyed 
the  law  by  carrying  no  red  lantern;  and  he  had  violated 
all  reason  by  turning  his  horses  right  across  the  road.  He 
held  them  there  still  to  confront  two  other  motors  thunder- 
ing in  from  the  west.  He  seemed  to  be  doing  his  best 
to  get  the  children  killed. 

The  first  new-come  chauffeur  ran  his  car  into  the  ditch. 
The  second  whirled  his  car  sidewise  and  skidded  softly 
against  the  wagon.  Into  the  eyes  of  the  infuriated  auto- 
drivers  the  teamster  stared  down,  answering  their  loud 
wrath  by  gaping  silently  and  jerking  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder. 

The  rural  horses,  no  more  terrified  and  no  less  intelligent 
than  their  driver,  shivered  and  pranced  among  the  noisy 
engines,  not  daring  to  bolt  in  any  direction.  The  children 
rolled  out,  or  were  spilled  out,  of  the  wagon,  and  ran  now 
to  the  safety  of  a  stone  wall,  and  there  they  sat,  with  all 
eyes  sparkling,  in  a  row,  a  young  audience  fascinated  by  a 
glittering  spectacle — a  spectacle  of  increasing  frequence 
along  the  roads  of  the  world. 

The  chauffeurs  and  passengers  of  these  cars  and  of 
others  that  drew  up  in  two  lengthening  queues  ran  to  the 
scene  of  Wetherell's  disaster.  Theirs  was  the  Samaritan 
task  of  this  century. 

At  first  they  could  not  see  Wetherell,  but  they  saw 
Daphne  and  her  peril,  and  they  set  frantically  to  work  to 
drag  her  free.  But  she  was  so  caught  that  they  could 
not  release  her  until  they  should  remove  the  car.  They 
pulled  and  heaved,  but  it  was  jammed  into  the  culvert 

504 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

and  the  ditch  so  tight  that  they  could  not  budge  it, 
though  they  took  risk  enough  and  suffered  blistered  hands 
and  charred  clothes. 

At  last  a  chauffeur  fastened  a  chain  to  the  rear  axle  of 
Wetherell's  car  and  to  the  front  axle  of  his,  and,  by 
alternate  backing  and  swerving,  dragged  and  hoisted 
Wetherell's  car  upward  and  rearward  while  other  men 
snatched  Daphne  from  beneath  and  away  from  the 
flames  just  as  they  were  nibbling  at  her  skirts. 

At  the  same  time  they  disclosed  the  body  of  Wetherell 
and  with  huge  difficulty  fetched  it  forth.  Still  others 
found  Leila  in  a  heap,  a  toy  with  broken  joints. 

The  last  thing  Daphne  had  known  was  the  sensation  of 
being  shaken  to  death,  a  helpless  mouse  in  a  terrier's 
mouth.  The  next  she  knew  was  that  she  was  seated  on 
the  edge  of  a  ditch  and  leaning  against  the  shoulder  of  a 
kneeling  woman  in  evening  dress. 

A  bright  light  from  somewhere,  a  sort  of  calcium  light, 
illumined  the  woman's  down-looking  face,  her  throat  and 
breast  and  one  bare  arm.  Afterward  Daphne  had  a  dim 
memory,  perhaps  untrue,  that  the  woman  sighed,  "You 
poor  little  hurt  lamb!"  and  touched  her  cheek  with  soft 
lips.  The  tenderness  achieved  what  horror  had  not:  it 
made  Daphne  weep. 

A  number  of  shadowy  men  and  women  wavered  against 
the  searing  glare  of  the  gasoline. 

Daphne  sat  erect  as  if  waking  in  bed  from  a  nightmare, 
but  the  visions  did  not  disappear,  and  pains  swarmed 
through  her.  She  was  not  in  her  bedroom,  but  some- 
where on  a  Long  Island  road,  begrimed  and  bruised  and 
exposed  to  the  eyes  of  strangers. 

She  wanted  to  ask  what  had  become  of  Leila  and  of 
Wetherell.  She  was  afraid  to.  She  tried  to  look  about. 
She  thought  she  saw  men  bending  to  lift  a  body  from  the 
ground,  but  the  group  around  her  shifted  and  cut  off  her 
view. 

505 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

The  business  of  a  knot  of  people  at  one  side  caught  her 
attention.  She  wondered  what  they  were  up  to,  until  she 
heard  a  sudden  outcry  in  Leila's  voice,  a  wild  outcry  of 
protest  and  appeal,  moans  of  "Don't!  Oh,  don't!"  and 
"Oh,  my  God!  Oh,  my  God!"  trailing  off  into  a  mere 
gibber  of  prayer.  Leila  was  coming  back  to  life. 

Daphne  knew  that  her  own  pain  was  less  than  Leila's. 
She  was  well  enough  now  to  hurt  with  pity.  She  thought 
of  Bayard  and  of  the  origin  of  this  tragic  picnic.  She 
remembered  that  her  own  meddlesomeness  had  brought 
her  here,  perhaps  had  brought  about  the  whole  disaster. 

She  had  forced  herself  on  Leila  and  Wetherell  to  protect 
her  brother's  wife  from  folly.  Her  motives  had  been  high, 
her  self-sacrifice  all  the  more  pure  from  its  tactlessness. 

And  this  was  the  outcome  of  it !  Leila  was  dying,  per- 
haps; Wetherell  was  probably  dead;  she  herself  maybe 
mortally  injured,  and  all  their  woes  the  property  of  a 
crowd. 

Her  ideas  were  jumbled  as  badly  as  her  senses.  She 
did  not  know  that  the  woman  who  was  kind  to  her  and 
beautiful  was  abroad  on  a  wicked  errand  which  she  ac- 
complished unscathed.  Daphne  knew  only  that  she  her- 
self had  been  punished  for  trying  to  do  right  and  she  was 
sorry  that  she  had  tried.  The  world  was  a  horrible  place 
and  she  hoped  that  she  would  soon  leave  it. 

Then  a  man  leaned  down  and  lifted  her  with  an  awk- 
wardness that  wakened  new  pangs.  Yet  it  was  good  to 
be  held  so. 

She  felt  a  child  in  her  father's  arms  again.  She  wished 
she  were  a  child  once  more,  without  knowledge  of  life. 
The  man  who  held  her  and  staggered  across  the  ditch 
with  her  seemed  young  and  handsome.  But  any  one 
would  look  good  in  that  office. 

She  never  knew  who  the  man  was.  If  he  learned  from 
the  next  day's  newspapers  who  she  was,  he  made  no 
effort  to  continue  the  acquaintance.  That  was  the  whole 
duty  of  a  gentleman. 

506 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  never  knew  in  whose  car  she  made  that  swift  journey 
over  the  smooth  road  that  was  so  rough  to  her  bruised 
flesh.  Another  car  took  Leila. 

They  arrived  at  last  at  a  hospital.  Daphne  was  lifted 
out  and  delivered  into  the  possession  of  two  curt  young 
internes.  She  was  stretched  on  a  litter,  carried  feet 
foremost  into  an  elevator,  down  a  corridor  to  a  room,  and 
rolled  out  on  a  bed.  Two  nurses  proceeded  to  undress 
her  and  bathe  her.  Then  an  older  doctor  came  in  and 
examined  her  injuries.  She  blazed  with  shame,  one 
complete  blush;  but  to  him  she  was  hardly  more  than 
a  car  brought  to  a  garage.  He  nodded  cheerfully  and 
said: 

"Not  a  bone  broken,  young  lady,  and  no  internal  de- 
rangements that  I  can  discover.  A  few  burns,  that's  all, 
and  a  big  shock." 

"Is  Leila  hurt  much?"  Daphne  mumbled. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  her,"  the  doctor  answered. 

"Tell  me!"  Daphne  insisted,  with  wrath.  "Tell  me 
the  truth!" 

Her  anxiety  threatened  more  damage  than  the  truth, 
so  he  told  her  a  little  of  it. 

"She  is  hurt  a  trifle  worse  than  you.  But  she'll  come 
round  all  right." 

"I  don't  believe  you!"  said  Daphne,  and  sighed, 
"Poor  Bayard!" 

"Who  is  Bayard?" 

"My  brother — her  husband." 

"Ah,  the  young  man  who  was —  The  other  young 
man  was  not  your  husband,  then?" 

Daphne  shook  her  head.  "  He  is  no  relation — a  friend. 
How  is  he?" 

"He's  quite  all  right,"  the  doctor  answered,  with  con- 
viction. 

Daphne  had  a  ghastly  intuition  of  his  meaning,  but  she 
was  still  swirling  with  daze,  and  she  could  just  hear  the 
doctor  murmuring  from  far  away: 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Perhaps  we'd  better  notify  Bayard.  What's  his  last 
name  ?  Has  he  a  telephone  ? ' ' 

Daphne  muttered  his  name  and  number.  Then  her 
head  was  lifted,  a  capsule  placed  in  her  mouth,  and  a  glass 
of  water  held  to  her  lips.  When  she  was  restored  to  her 
pillow  a  sedative  was  within  her  to  subdue  the  riot  of  her 
thoughts. 

She  kept  sighing:  "Poor  Bayard!  Poor  Leila!  Poor 
everybody ! "  But  she  was  afraid  to  say , ' '  Poor  Wetherell ! ' ' 
She  wondered  if  he  had  a  mother  and  father  and  if  any- 
body would  notify  them.  Perhaps  they  had  been  glad 
that  he  had  avoided  the  battle-fields  in  Europe;  they  had 
felt  that  he  was  safe  in  America.  As  if  anybody  were 
safe  anywhere! 

The  thought  of  Wetherell's  parents  reminded  her  that 
she  had  parents  of  her  own;  and  so  had  Leila.  She 
dreaded  the  thought  of  their  misery  when  they  learned  of 
the  accident.  And  there  would  be  the  added  regret  that 
the  accident  had  befallen  a  rather  suspicious  outing  of  the 
sort  known  as  a  joy-ride.  To  be  killed  in  a  motor-car 
spinning  across  Long  Island  at  that  hour  was  not  quite 
nice. 

Daphne  remembered  that  she  had  been  warned.  She 
had  had  an  earlier  escape  from  being  killed  the  night 
when  Tom  Duane's  car  collided  with  the  anonymous 
racer  on  the  road  along  the  Hudson.  She  had  narrowly 
grazed  both  death  and  a  scandal.  It  was  through  that 
accident  that  she  met  Wetherell  and  brought  him  back 
into  Leila's  ken.  Daphne  was  to  blame  for  it  all.  If 
she  had  been  wise  enough  to  take  a  lesson  from  that 
escape  she  would  not  have  come  on  this  second  fatal 
excursion.  But  nobody  seemed  ever  to  learn  anything 
from  anything. 

She  fell  to  thinking  of  Duane  and  of  the  incredible  every- 
day insanity  that  leads  otherwise  intelligent  people  to 
set  out  in  machines  of  tremendous  engine  and  to  shuttle 
from  peril  to  peril  with  drunken  speed. 

508 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

She  wondered  what  Duane  would  think  of  her  now. 
She  remembered  the  money  she  had  asked  him  to  lend 
her.  It  would  be  in  the  morning's  mail.  But  she  would 
not  be  there  to  open  it.  Mrs.  Chivvis  might  not  dare  to. 

All  her  acquaintance  began  to  march  past  Daphne's 
brain  in  review: 

Mrs.  Chiwis!  She  would  simply  pass  away  when  she 
learned  of  Daphne's  latest  escapade.  She  would  prob- 
ably refuse  to  keep  partnership  with  such  a  reprobate. 
She  would  lock  her  door  against  her. 

And  Mrs.  Romilly!  She  would  withdraw  her  order 
when  she  read  the  papers. 

And  Clay  Wimburn!  What  wouldn't  he  think  of  her? 
He  knew  her  too  well,  her  passionate  nature.  He  had 
thought  her  unwomanly  in  her  determination  to  keep  her 
independence.  Now  he  would  suspect  the  worst  and  be 
glad  that  she  had  refused  to  be  his  wife. 

Thoughts  and  half-thoughts  and  whimsies  danced 
through  her  mind  in  a  carnival  of  stupor  and  frenzy,  while 
to  the  eyes  of  the  nurses  she  lay  still  and  slept. 

In  another  room  Leila  was  shrieking  and  fighting, 
whimpering  and  moaning,  a  torn  gazelle  under  the  claws 
and  fangs  of  tigerish  pain.  Abruptly  there  came  a  lethal 
silence  also  from  her.  They  had  succeeded  in  drugging 
her  at  last. 

And  now  the  fatigue  of  the  experience  and  the  exhaus- 
tion of  all  emotion  left  the  two  bodies  like  closed  shops  on 
Sunday.  Daphne  and  Leila  were,  as  we  say,  asleep. 
That  was  good.  That  was  the  zero  of  repose  between 
plus-pain  and  minus-pain. 


CHAPTER  LXXIV 

WHEN  Daphne  had  left  Bayard  in  the  afternoon 
she  had  found  that  he  was  depressed,  but  not  how 
deeply.  She  supposed  that  his  money  loss  was  only  a 
failure  of  expected  profits,  or  the  mishap  of  an  invest- 
ment. She  did  not  dream  that  he  was  crippled  financially. 
She  missed  the  opportunity  of  blessing  him  from  the  wells 
of  love  for  him  that  filled  the  deeps  of  her  heart. 

In  those  times  people  were  glutted  with  disasters;  their 
perceptions  of  misery  were  dulled.  What  conscious  effort 
they  made  was  toward  escape  from  knowing  too  much 
about  misery.  Only  a  picturesque  catastrophe  could 
seize  the  attention.  They  skimmed  the  brutal  head- 
lines and  turned  to  the  comic  pages  where  blessed  ministers 
of  diversion  played  the  clown  to  keep  the  habit  of  cheer- 
fulness and  the  habit  of  courage  alive  in  a  world  of  travail. 

So  Daphne  in  a  gloom  over  her  own  financial  riddle  had 
made  less  than  her  characteristic  response  to  Bayard's 
implied  appeal.  She  had  gone  her  ways,  dreaming  no 
more  of  the  sorrow  she  left  behind  than  of  the  sorrow  she 
was  hastening  toward. 

The  collapse  of  Bayard's  hopes  affected  other  people 
no  more  than  other  people's  collapses  had  troubled  him 
when  he  was  prospering.  Fortunes  had  been  made  and 
lost  in  the  munition  stocks  so  rapidly  that  people  grew 
indifferent.  The  stocks  themselves  were  flippantly  re- 
ferred to  as  "war  babies,"  and  when  Bayard  left  his 
office  and  bought  an  evening  paper  the  epitaph  of  his 
venture  was  the  ribald  head-line  "Wall  Street  Spanks 
Another  War  Baby."  That  was  all  it  meant  to  the  re- 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

porters.  With  equal  callousness  they  would  refer  next 
day  to  Wetherell's  disaster  as  "Another  Joy  Ride  Meets 
Fatal  Finish." 

Bayard  was  so  forlorn,  so  profoundly  ashamed  of  his 
bad  guesswork,  that  he  could  not  bear  to  show  his  face 
at  any  of  his  clubs  that  night.  He  had  boasted  there  too 
often  of  having  bought  heavily  of  the  stock.  He  had 
persuaded  too  many  of  his  friends  to  invest  in  it. 

So  he  went  where  busy  men  go  when  other  places  are 
closed  to  them.  He  went  home.  He  forgot  having 
telephoned  that  he  would  not  be  there  for  dinner.  When 
he  reached  his  apartment  he  found  that  Leila  had  given 
the  servants  a  night  out. 

Leila  had  left  no  word  of  her  own  plans.  After  a  for- 
lorn delay  Bayard  called  for  Daphne.  She  was  gone,  too, 
with  no  word  of  her  return.  Bayard  sighed  and  went  to  a 
neighboring  restaurant  for  dinner.  He  felt  all  the  wretch- 
edness of  a  bachelor.  He  returned  to  the  apartment  and 
watched  the  clock  with  an  increasing  anxiety,  made  up 
chiefly  of  jealousy  and  suspicion. 

At  last  the  telephone  rang.  A  man's  voice  spoke  and 
explained  that  it  spoke  from  the  hospital. 

"Is  Mr.  Kip  there?  Is  this  Mr.  Kip?  Mr.  Bayard 
Kip?  Your  wife  is  here,  and  your  sister,  and  your  friend 
Wetherell — automobile  accident — out  here  on  Long  Island 
— pretty  bad  smash.  Your  wife's  not  very  well — better 
come  out — as  soon  as  you  can." 

The  world  reeled.  Bayard  seized  his  hat,  played  a 
tattoo  on  the  elevator-bell,  suddenly  remembered  that  he 
had  given  his  last  cash  to  the  waiter  at  the  restaurant, 
stopped  to  ask  the  night  man  for  a  loan,  snatched  from 
him  a  cherished  ten-dollar  bill,  darted  into  the  street, 
yelled  at  a  taxicab  with  ferocity,  got  in,  ordered  the 
driver  to  "go  like  hell."  He  kept  putting  his  head  out  to 
howl  at  him. 

The  old  cab  creaked  and  hustled  and  threatened  to 
shake  itself  to  flinders.  The  Queensborough  Bridge  seemed 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

as  long  as  the  arch  between  earth  and  heaven.  Bayard's 
mind  threatened  to  shake  itself  to  pieces,  too.  It  kept 
jolting  from  thought  to  thought.  "Leila  hurt!  My  darling 
hurt !  But  she  was  with  Wetherell — the  dog !  I  hope  he's 
dead —  But  Daphne  was  with  them.  So  it  must  have 
been  all  right.  Poor  Daphne — poor  little  sister!  Poor 
little  wife!  But  Wetherell—  But  Daphne—  But  what 
if  Leila  should  be  guilty —  But  what  if  she  should  die — 
But  what  if — what  if — if — 

When  at  last  they  drew  up  at  the  hospital  entrance  the 
driver,  as  usual,  had  no  change.  Bayard  must  wait  till  it 
was  made  by  the  hospital  cashier.  He  cursed  his  im- 
providence and  swore  again  that  he  would  never  fail  to 
keep  a  reserve.  Even  in  small  money  he  had  no  resources. 

At  length  he  was  ready  to  be  led  to  his  wife's  room.  He 
questioned  the  interne  fiercely  about  Leila  and  Daphne, 
and  had  evasive  answers.  He  did  not  ask  about  Wether- 
ell, but  the  interne  volunteered  the  news  that  he  was 
dead. 

That  made  the  ultimate  difference.  Bayard  stopped 
short  in  awe,  his  forehead  cold  as  if  a  clammy  hand  had 
been  laid  on  it.  Death  was  at  work.  Where  would  he 
stop? 

In  the  chill  white  aisle  of  the  corridor  his  frenzy  gave 
place  to  a  sense  of  bitter  cold.  A  chill  white  nurse  led 
him  past  doors  and  doors  to  a  room  where  in  a  white 
bed  lay  a  chill  white  thing,  a  cylinder  of  cotton. 

Leila's  face  was  almost  invisible  in  bandages;  her 
whole  body  crisscrossed  and  swaddled.  She  was  an 
Egyptian  princess  mummied.  For  a  moment  her  soul 
came  out  of  the  drug  at  his  gasp  of  pity.  It  ran  about 
inside  its  cocoon  trying  to  find  a  nerve  to  pull  or  a  muscle 
to  signal  to  him  outside.  The  mere  lifting  of  her  hand 
brought  from  her  a  moan  of  such  woe  as  canceled  all 
Bayard's  grievances  against  her. 

It  is  small  wonder  that  man  should  believe  in  a  divine 
hell,  seeing  how  the  people  he  himself  damns  are  absolved 

512 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

by  a  proof  of  torture  as  atonement.  Even  Wetherell  had 
gained  forgiveness  by  merely  dying. 

If  Leila  had  come  through  the  escapade  beautiful  and 
unscathed  Bayard  could  have  hated  her.  But  who  could 
help  loving  the  poor  writhing  thing  she  was  now  ? 

Once  Bayard's  resentments  and  jealousies  were  swept 
from  his  mind,  his  old  love  came  back  throbbing  and  leap- 
ing. His  very  soul  bled  and  he  dropped  to  his  knees,  his 
arm  thrown  across  that  bundle  of  wreckage  which  had 
been  his  choice  among  the  world's  beauties. 

This  was  Bayard's  third  marriage  to  Leila:  for  every 
couple  has  at  least  four  ceremonies  to  go  through  with 
before  the  two  are  completely  married.  The  first  is  the 
triumph  of  amour,  the  trial  by  fire,  the  ordeal  of  rapture. 
The  second  is  the  initiation  into  the  money  problem,  the 
financial  mating,  the  moneymoon.  The  third  is  the  ex- 
perience of  anguish,  when  either  watches  other  through 
great  pain  or  illness  or  disgrace — the  wormwood  moon. 
To  the  fourth  marriage  rite  the  Kips  had  not  yet  been 
summoned,  for  since  their  marriage  death  had  not  robbed 
either  of  them  of  any  one  near  or  dear. 

But  now  Bayard  and  Leila  were  wed  in  the  third  degree. 
He  loved  his  bride  as  never  before.  Seeing  her  danger 
and  her  helplessness  and  realizing  what  terrors  must  have 
shaken  her  soul  and  what  pangs  her  body,  his  heart  en- 
larged and  accepted  so  much  emotion  that  there  was  a 
kind  of  rapture  in  the  very  power  to  ache  so  well,  to 
endure  so  huge  a  charge  of  sympathy. 

He  was  soon  dragged  from  his  communion  with  his  once- 
more  unconscious  bride  by  the  young  doctor,  who  lifted 
him  up  with  the  unpractised  diplomacy  of  internes  and 
led  him  aside,  grumbling:  "Say,  what  you  trying  to  do? 
Kill  her?  She's  weak  and  her  heart's  fluttering.  Cheer 
her  up  if  you  can.  If  you  can't,  you  can't  stay.  Better 
not  stay,  anyway." 

Bayard  apologized  cravenly  and  promised  better  be- 
havior, and  was  permitted  to  steal  back  to  Leila.  He 
17  5i3 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

took  her  one  undamaged  hand ;  it  was  as  beautiful  as  the 
severed  hand  of  a  Greek  statue,  and  as  marblish  white  and 
cold.  Holding  it  fast  in  his  warm  palms,  he  secretly  sent 
his  fingers  groping  for  Leila's  pulse.  It  was  hard  to  find, 
and  so  feeble,  found,  that  he  could  hardly  count  it.  It  was 
so  rapid,  too,  that  it  seemed  her  heart  must  race  itself  to 
death.  And  yet  it  was  a  stumbling  pulse;  it  made  un- 
canny pauses,  then  raced  again.  It  reminded  him  some- 
how of  a  frightened  woman  running  along  an  unknown 
road  in  the  dark,  pausing  for  breath  and  a  backward  look 
at  some  pursuer,  and  fearing  equally  what  she  fled  toward 
and  what  she  fled  from. 

At  every  check  Bayard  wondered  if  the  pulse  would 
ever  begin  again.  And  indeed  it  was  a  matter  of  doubt. 

The  interne  knew  hardly  more  than  enough  to  keep 
Bayard  from  perturbing  Leila  with  his  own  distress. 
He  led  him  at  length  out  into  the  corridor.  And  now 
Bayard  remembered  that  he  had  also  a  sister,  an  only 
sister,  in  this  same  tavern  of  pain.  His  heart  went  out  to 
her.  He  remembered,  too,  that  they  had  a  father  and  a 
mother  to  tell  or  deceive. 

The  interne  assured  him  that  Daphne's  injuries  were 
slight.  She  looked  sad  enough  when  he  peered  in  at  her, 
though  she  was  far  from  the  dreary  estate  of  Leila.  She 
was  asleep,  but  she  woke  at  the  sound  of  his  step,  and, 
turning  her  head  with  effort,  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled 
at  him  feebly  and  whispered  his  name,  and  beckoned  to 
him  with  one  weak  finger. 

He  ran  to  her  and  embraced  her  and  kissed  her  brow 
and  was  mightily  glad  that  she  had  a  brow  to  kiss  and 
eyes  to  look  into.  His  Leila  was  only  a  great  parcel  with 
one  hand. 

"You  poor  little  lamb!"  he  mumbled. 

It  startled  Daphne.  That  was  what  the  strange  woman 
had  said  who  upheld  her  after  the  accident.  Man  and 
woman,  stranger  and  brother,  had  both  felt  the  same  thrill 
of  pity.  It  was  very  wonderful  to  be  felt  sorry  for.  She 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

remembered  a  line  of  James  Whitcomb  Riley's,  "And  oh, 
I  wanted  so  to  be  felt  sorry  for!" 

And  now  she  cried  some  more,  quite  luxuriously.  She 
wept  very  well  for  so  feeble  a  thing.  She  realized  that  for 
a  long  time  she  had  been  needing  pity  more  than  anything 
else.  In  her  dash  for  freedom,  her  impatient  gestures 
against  the  shackles  of  her  sex,  her  grit  and  her  stubborn- 
ness had  provoked  admiration  or  hostility,  but  nobody 
had  felt  sorry  for  her.  And  young  women  need  a  little 
pity  now  and  then.  She  had  a  sudden,  sharp  longing  to 
be  felt  sorry  for  by  Clay  Wimburn.  She  wanted  his 
arms  around  her  again.  She  wished  she  had  not  opposed 
him  so  impatiently.  She  wished  she  had  felt  sorrier  for 
him.  He  must  have  suffered  a  lot.  All  of  a  sudden  it 
came  over  her  what  a  lot  he  must  have  suffered  from  loving 
her  with  such  poor  success. 

Men  need  much  pity,  too,  though  they  make  an  affec- 
tation of  getting  along  without  it.  Daphne,  thinking  of 
Clay,  opened  her  eyes  to  see  in  Bayard's  face  the  look  he 
had  worn  when  he  was  a  child  and  had  cried  as  hard  as  girls 
cry.  Now  he  had  the  wet  eyes  of  a  wounded  stag.  His 
throat  was  struggling  with  rough  pebbles  of  grief.  His 
chin  was  twitching.  He  also  was  mutely  begging  to  be 
felt  sorry  for. 

Daphne's  heart  ached  out  to  him;  she  hugged  him  as 
hard  as  her  weak  arms  would  let  her.  She  searched  her 
mind  for  comfort.  She  could  think  of  nothing  so  com- 
forting just  now  as  a  hearty,  reassuring  lie.  She  whispered : 

"It's  all  my  fault,  honey.  You  see,  Mr.  Wetherell  was 
taking  me  out  for  a  ride.  I  met  Leila.  She  told  me  you 
telephoned  you  weren't  coming  home  for  dinner.  She 
looked  so  lonely  that  I  asked  her  to  come  along  and 
chaperon  us.  I'm  to  blame  for  it  all.  Can  you  ever 
forgive  me?" 

He  was  so  grateful,  so  eager  to  be  deceive'd,  that  he  for- 
got her  state  and  clenched  her  hand  hard  and  kissed  it  in 
gratitude  for  a  priceless  boon.  The  nurse,  returning,  saw 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

the  deed  and  smiled,  not  knowing  what  joy  Bayard  was 
taking  in  absolving  Leila  of  suspicion  and  loading  himself 
with  blame.  At  such  a  time  we  love  to  bow  our  own 
heads  in  shame  and  cast  ashes  upon  our  hair.  The  taste 
of  ashes  in  the  mouth  is  good  at  such  a  time. 

If  Bayard's  intelligence  made  any  effort  to  remind  him 
how  specious  Daphne's  story  was,  he  silenced  it.  For 
such  moods  intelligence  is  indecent. 

Daphne,  seeing  how  welcome  her  falsehood  was,  and 
fearing  to  spoil  its  perfection,  pretended  to  go  back  to 
sleep.  And  by  and  by  her  brother  pretended  that  he 
must  not  disturb  her.  f 

He  went  again  to  Leila's  room  and  lifted  her  hand  and 
kissed  it.  She  was  so  befogged  with  drugs  that  she  did 
not  know,  though  he  held  it  for  hours  and  hours  and  hours 
— the  long  night  hours  of  a  hospital. 

At  intervals  Leila's  pain  reconquered  the  drugs.  The 
hand  began  to  jump  and  wriggle  as  if  it  were  a  separate 
being.  Her  moans  came  from  far  away,  then  nearer  and 
more  alarming.  The  nurse  would  break  off  her  whispered 
gossip  down  the  hall  and  make  haste  to  submerge  Leila 
again  with  opiates,  or  at  times  with  the  hypodermic  needle, 
which  Bayard  winced  to  see,  and  turned  away  from,  but 
which  Leila  put  her  hand  out  for.  That  frightened  him. 

Now  and  then  in  her  conscious  whiles  Leila  would  make 
sorrowful  little  whimpering  appeals,  mewing  like  a  cold 
kitten  left  out  on  a  door-step.  At  length  Bayard  could 
realize  that  she  was  calling  to  somebody.  He  bent  close, 
fearing  that  it  might  be  Wetherell,  or  even  her  mother  or 
her  father. 

Finally  he  made  out  that  she  was  calling  for  him.  She 
was  wailing:  "Bydie!  Bydie!  Bydie!"  He  could  not  find 
her  soul  to  tell  it  that  he  would  not  fail  her,  but  she  had 
found  his  with  the  divine  comfort  that  she  had  not 
failed  him  in  this  test.  She  wanted  him  and  no  one  else 
in  the  world. 

That  redeemed  their  wedlock  and  proved  its  complete- 


ness.  All  these  latter  estrangements  were  mere  lovers' 
quarrels,  household  flurries.  Serene  in  this  reunion,  he 
fell  asleep  in  his  chair,  his  little  finger  hooked  in  hers. 

They  were  very  close  and  very  far  apart — their  linked 
hands  as  frail  a  bond  and  seemingly  as  long  as  a  telephone 
wire  between  cities.  Leila  was,  herself,  a  little  city  which 
an  earthquake  had  visited  and  wrecked.  While  her  soul 
apparently  slept,  the  multitudinous  citizens  of  her  self 
were  busy  amid  debris,  the  Lilliputians  were  delving  each 
into  his  own  house  and  shop.  Throughout  the  broken 
walls  of  her  body  there  were  twisted  wires  and  choked 
streets  and  flaming  temples  and  an  innumerable  popula- 
tion doing  its  best  to  save  the  town,  but  desperately  need- 
ing help  from  without,  such  help  as  Chicago  had  and  San 
Francisco  and  Messina  and  Belgium,  Poland,  and  Servia. 

Bayard  was  not  capable  of  rendering  help  to  her  except 
by  way  of  financing  the  skill  of  others.  This  he  would  do 
to  the  last  of  his  powers,  regretful  only  because  there  was 
no  superhuman  skill  to  purchase.  That  business  man's 
soul  of  his  was  dreaming  even  in  his  sleep  of  schemes  for 
raising  money  to  meet  these  new  demands  of  Leila's. 
Fortunately  sickness  and  such  need  as  hers  were  always 
acceptable  as  security  and  collateral  for  a  loan.  He  would 
get  money  enough  somehow  if  only  the  doctors  would 
somehow  bring  help  enough. 

He  was  not  permitted  to  sleep  there  long,  for,  being  well, 
he  was  an  alien  in  the  hospital,  and  in  the  morning  the 
wards  were  humming  with  baths  and  breakfasts  and 
changes  of  dressings  and  inspections.  The  shop  was 
opening  for  business. 

In  the  surgery  the  knives  were  boiling,  and  the  priests 
and  priestesses  were  cleansing  themselves  for  the  altars. 
The  wheeled  cots  were  running  along  the  halls  to  the 
elevators  with  their  white  freight  of  sick  terror. 

At  length  the  chief  surgeon  came  dreadfully  into  Leila's 
room  and  shook  hands  with  Bayard  and  put  him  out. 
By  and  by  the  surgeon  reappeared  to  tell  Bayard  that 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

in  his  opinion  certain  operations  were  immediately 
necessary  to  save  Leila's  life  and  her  health  and  her 
mechanism.  He  asked  Bayard's  consent  formally. 

It  was  required  of  this  husband  to  send  his  beloved  to 
the  knives,  to  take  that  awful  responsibility  of  adding 
wounds  to  her  wounds,  of  increasing  her  surfeit  of  agonies. 

But  for  the  love  of  her  he  gave  his  authority.  The 
surgeon  was  chary  of  promises.  He  was  not  sure  what  he 
would  find,  but  he  thought  he  ought  to  do  all  that  could  be 
done  artificially  in  behalf  of  broken  bones,  torn  ligaments, 
lacerated  flesh,  displaced  organs,  and  whatever  else  might 
be  found  amiss.  His  excuse  was  the  physician's  motto: 
"We  must  do  the  best  we  know  how." 

Bayard  was  permitted  to  hold  that  one  poor  hand  of 
Leila's  in  the  journey  down  the  corridors  to  the  anesthe- 
tizing-room.  She  was  too  feeble  to  realize  or  be  more 
afraid  than  she  was.  It  was  Bayard  that  sickened  at  the 
vision  of  the  anesthetist,  and  the  surgeon  in  his  robe  and 
gloves,  and  the  nurses  and  assistants  with  the  gauze  over 
their  mouths. 

Bayard  was  driven  away  from  the  sacred  precincts.  He 
could  not  go  to  Daphne's  room,  for  her  nurse  was  bathing 
her  and  dressing  her  bruises  and  the  blistered  surfaces  along 
her  right  calf  and  shin  where  the  gasoline  flames  had  begun 
to  sear. 

Bayard  was  forlorn  enough,  alone,  roomless,  in  the  way 
of  everybody,  waiting  for  the  release  of  his  wife  from  the 
torture-chamber.  He  went  outside  and  smoked,  but  he 
was  afraid  to  be  away  against  Leila's  return. 

He  found  a  morning  paper  on  the  floor  of  the  waiting- 
room  near  a  chair.  He  hated  to  read  some  one's  else  dis- 
carded paper,  but  he  had  a  man's  impatience  to  get  the 
news  early,  so  he  picked  it  up  surreptitiously. 

The  war  in  Europe  furnished  no  picturesque  horror  that 
morning;  the  political  situation  and  the  Mexican  riddle 
were  quiet  enough  to  admit  a  social  document  to  the  front 
page.  Bayard  read: 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

ANOTHER  JOY  RIDE 
MEETS  FATAL  FINISH 

MUNITIONS-AGENT    WETHERELL    KILLED. 

MRS.       BAYARD      KIP      INJURED 

PERHAPS      FATALLY. 

SISTER  BADLY  HURT 

A  broken  steering-gear  that  cracked  under  the  strain  of  seventy 
miles  an  hour  brought  a  sudden  end  to  the  hilarity  of  a  trio  of 
merrymakers  and  added  one  more  to  the  big  death  roll  of  the' 
year. 

Only  the  quick  work  and  presence  of  mind  of  a  teamster, 
Henry  Drinn,  in  turning  his  wagon  aside  saved  a  party  of 
children  from  being  slaughtered  by  the  reckless  driver. 

After  the  car  thundered  past,  Drinn  saw  it  suddenly  swerve 
into  a  culvert.  He  supposes  that  the  steering-gear  broke — 

Bayard  blenched  with  shame  at  the  sight  of  his  wife's 
name  in  the  head-lines.  He  wanted  to  murder  the  re- 
porters who  invaded  the  sacred  privacy  of  his  home.  He 
cursed  the  ruthlessness  of  the  press. 

He  did  not  know  how  much  of  the  chronicle  was  truth, 
how  much  reporter's  romance.  If  history  is  only  "fiction 
agreed  upon,"  what  is  journalism? — fiction  disagreed 
upon?  For  no  two  papers  tell  the  same  story  alike.  It  is 
not  altogether  their  fault,  since  human  beings  can  neither 
understand  nor  report  one  another. 

None  of  the  papers  credited  Wetherell  with  the  sublimity 
of  his  self-sacrifice.  How  could  they  know  of  it?  Daphne 
alone  had  guessed  what  WetherelTs  motive  was,  but  she 
was  in  no  state  to  be  quizzed.  The  stupid  Drinn  won 
the  credit  and  did  not  refuse  it;  began  in  time  to  believe 
it  his  and  boast  of  it. 

All  that  Bayard  knew  or  cared  was  that  his  wife  and  his 
sister  were  on  the  front  page  of  the  New  York  dailies. 
There  are  various  ways  of  getting  there,  most  of  them 
unpleasant.  This  way  was  odious. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Bayard's  jealous  wrath  began  to  ferment  again.  Then 
he  saw  Leila  being  trundled  back  on  a  barrow.  He 
thought  at  first  that  she  was  dead,  for  the  ether  still 
possessed  her  and  a  cloth  had  been  laid  over  her  face. 

Now  love  flared  up  again,  and  again  he  forgave  and 
adored.  He  ran  to  the  interne  with  anxious  questions. 
The  interne  was  careful  not  to  promise  anything.  The 
door  was  shut  in  Bayard's  face  and  he  resumed  the 
hospital  patrol. 

At  length  he  pleaded  for  admission  and  was  let  in — 
quite  in  time  to  miss  none  of  the  horrors  of  the  soul's  re- 
birth from  the  ether-death  to  the  nausea  of  life. 

The  surgeon  had  removed  a  part  of  Leila's  bandages 
and  she  had  eyes  now  to  torture  Bayard  with,  eyes  that 
looked  up  to  him  out  of  hell,  eyes  that  glazed  and  sickened 
and  seemed  to  scream,  then  filmed  and  rolled  whitely  back 
and  returned  to  beg  for  help. 

And  now  there  was  no  comfort  in  hearing  Leila  call  his 
name,  for  he  was  hatefully  useless  to  her,  a  bystander  that 
stared  at  her  and  offered  her  no  aid.  He  abominated  the 
ignorance  of  man  and  the  futile  sciences  that  grope  and  do 
not  find. 

The  surgeon  came  in  to  see  Leila  and  shake  her  hand 
and  tell  her  that  she  was  going  to  be  all  right.  She  might 
have  a  little  pain — yes,  she  probably  would  be  incon- 
venienced (it  was  his  word).  But  there  was  no  way  of 
stopping  that  odious  vomiting.  It  would  soon  be  ended, 
however.  Well,  good-by! 

Bayard  spent  the  most  of  the  day  watching  Leila  suffer 
and  repeating  his  little  rote  of  sympathy  over  and  over. 

That  night  he  was  permitted  to  occupy  a  room  in  the 
hospital. 


CHAPTER  LXXV 

DAPHNE'S  first  visitor  after  Bayard  was  Mrs.  Chiwk 
She  was  not  at  all  what  Daphne  feared.     Her  man- 
ner had  the  discretion  that  sick  people  require,  but  her 
heart  was  evidently  shaken  from  its  calm.     And  she 
brought  flowers. 

"Oh,  my  dear !"  she  murmured.  " I  read  in  the  papers 
about  your  misfortune.  Such  a  night  as  I  had  spent !  I 
was  so  afraid  for  you!  I  couldn't  imagine  what  had  be- 
come of  you.  There  was  no  one  at  your  brother's  apart- 
ment all  night.  The  night  man  said  your  brother  had 
left  in  great  haste  and  seemed  to  be  worried.  And  to 
think  that  you  were  lying  here  in  such  pain !  And  I  might 
have  helped  you." 

Daphne  smiled,  and  they  clasped  hands  like  the  two 
splendid  little  business  women  they  were. 

"How's  the  shop?"  Daphne  asked. 

"I  haven't  been  there." 

"It  isn't  open,  then?" 

"No,  indeed.     With  you  here?" 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  Daphne  stormed,  already 
converted  to  the  shop  religion.  "Customers  must  not 
find  the  door  shut.  Run  open  it  at  once.  Suppose  Mrs. 
Romilly  dropped  in.  We'd  lose  her — unless  this  no- 
toriety drives  her  away. ' '  A  little  blush  of  shame  flickered 
in  Daphne's  pale  cheeks  a  moment  and  went  out.  She 
sighed:  "I  suppose  Mr.  Duane  has  stopped  that  check, 
too — if  he  ever  sent  it.  Oh,  dear!  I'll  never  try  to  save 
anybody's  else  reputation." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Mrs.  Chivvis  snapped. 

521 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Nothing,"  Daphne  answered  in  haste.  "I'm  woozy 
with  the  medicines."  She  had  suddenly  realized  that  her 
sacrifice  for  Leila's  sake  was  of  the  kind  that  publication 
would  reverse  into  slander. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  had  an  inkling  of  what  she  meant,  but 
she  had  also  decency  enough  to  try  to  change  the  subject. 
She  made  several  fishlike  gasps,  but  no  words  came. 

Then  a  nurse  knocked;  brought  in  a  card  growing  in  a 
large  little  azalea-tree.  Daphne  scanned  it.  "Mr.  Thomas 
Varick  Duane!"  She  peered  closer  at  the  pencilings  and 
read  aloud:  "' I  just  learned.  I'm  heartbroken.  Isn't 
there  anything  I  can  do?'  " 

Daphne  felt  as  if  outraged  society  had  forgiven  her. 

"Isn't  he  a  darling?"  she  murmured. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  begrudged  a  stingy,  "Well,  of  course — ' 
She  had  the  poor  folks'  conscientious  scruples  against 
wasting  praise  on  the  rich.     She  thought  she  could  escape 
from  committing  herself  by  rising.     "You'll  want  to  see 
him,  I  presume." 

This  was  a  tremendous  concession,  since  it  would  be 
almost  pagan  for  her  to  retire  and  permit  Daphne  to 
receive  Tom  Duane  in  her  room,  and  she  in  bed.  Mrs. 
Chiwis  had  never  heard  of  the  old  French  court  custom. 
She  would  not  have  approved  of  it. 

But  Daphne  had  had  enough  of  evil  appearance.  She 
expressed  the  horror  that  Mrs.  Chiwis  felt:  "See  him 
here?  Never!"  She  glared  at  poor  Mrs.  Chiwis  with  a 
reproof  that  was  excruciating  to  accept,  and  ordered  her 
to  go  down  and  meet  Mr.  Duane  and  incidentally  learn 
about  the  check.  "Business  is  business,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Chiwis  descended  in  all  the  confusion  of  a  Puritan 
wife  meeting  a  Cavalier  beau.  She  came  back  later  to 
say  that  Mr.  Duane  was  really  very  nice,  and  spoke 
beautifully  and  had  sent  the  check  and  would  send 
another  if  Daphne  wished  it,  and  would  make  old  Mrs. 
Romilly  go  on  with  the  order,  and  would  she  like  some 
special  fruits  or  soups  or  something?  He  was  really 

522 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

very  nice.     She  was  blushing  from  the  very  effort  to  keep 
from  blushing. 

Daphne  eyed  her  with  ironic  horror  and  said,  "You've 
been  flirting  with  him !  and  me  so  helpless  here !" 

"Daph! — nee!!  Kip!!!"  Mrs.  Chiwis  screamed.  The 
only  counter-thrust  she  could  think  of  was.  "And  what 
does  Mr.  Wimburn  say?" 

This  sobered  Daphne.  She  had  been  thinking  of  Clay, 
and  during  Mrs.  Chiwis'  absence  she  had  been  regretting 
that  once  more  Clay  should  have  permitted  Tom  Duane 
to  beat  him  to  the  proper  thing. 

There  was  an  incongruity  in  Duane's  flowers  that  hurt 
her.  Why  had  Clay  sent  no  word?  Everybody  else  in 
town  had  seen  the  papers.  Clay  read  the  papers.  Surely 
he  was  not  capable  of  such  monstrous  pique.  When 
your  worst  enemy  gets  badly  hurt  you've  just  got  to  for- 
give— if  you're  human. 

Duane  had  not  been  held  back  by  any  such  jealousy  of 
Wetherell.  Why  should  Clay?  To  conceal  her  misery 
from  Mrs.  Chiwis  she  began  to  complain  again  of  the 
risk  of  leaving  the  shop  shut,  and  she  bustled  her  partner 
off.  Then  she  became  mere  woman  and  brooded  over  her 
lover's  incredible  neglect.  She  continued  to  brood  all  that 
day,  and  the  next,  and  the  next. 

Gradually  her  gloom  changed  to  a  lively  alarm.  Per- 
haps some  ill  had  befallen  him.  The  factories  where  war 
munitions  were  being  turned  out  were  subject  to  all  sorts 
of  explosions,  incendiarisms,  strikes,  assaults,  murders. 
There  was  much  talk  of  hostile  spies  and  hyphenated- 
American  conspiracy,  and  she  began  to  wonder  if  Clay 
might  not  have  been  assassinated  as  an  agent  for  the 
Allies. 

Almost  worse  than  this  fear  was  the  dread  that  he 
might  have  been  won  over  by  some  other  woman.  Even 
in  that  case,  Daphne  felt  that  he  ought  to  have  sent  a 
word  of  regret — unless  the  woman  were  some  green-eyed 
demon  "who  had  him  scared." 

523 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Daphne  had  an  abundance  of  time  to  speculate,  for  if 
Clay  were  alive  he  gave  no  sign  of  his  existence. 

When  she  appealed  to  Bayard  he  said  that  he  had  tried 
to  find  Clay  himself.  He  confessed  that  he  had  wanted 
to  borrow  money  of  him. 

The  hospital  had  asked  for  two  weeks'  room  rent  in 
advance,  and  he  had  found  himself  a  little  short.  Daphne 
fretted  over  this  eternal  stringency.  Bayard's  efforts  to 
persuade  her  that  she  must  not  worry  about  money  only 
made  her  worry  the  more. 

She  grew  frantic  to  be  back  at  her  shop.  To  be  earn- 
ing something,  that  was  the  important  thing.  She 
hated  to  lie  abed  and  let  Mrs.  Chiwis  carry  the  business 
alone.  It  was  unfair  to  Mrs.  Chiwis  and  unfair  to  the 
business,  too,  for  Mrs.  Chiwis  was  no  saleswoman,  and 
Daphne  was  a  mighty  good  one,  if  she  did  say  it  herself. 

She  had  come  to  think  of  "the  business"  with  a  fervor 
akin  to  religion  or  patriotism. 

She  was  evolving  a  commercial  character  with  a  ven- 
geance. The  soul  that  had  looked  down  on  trade  was 
now  thrilling  to  its  distresses  and  ecstasies,  its  romance 
and  its  prides  and  its  pathos. 

Yet  it  was  rather  her  wares  that  she  had  changed  than 
her  character.  Previously  her  stock  in  trade  had  been 
like  other  women's — her  charm  and  her  attention  and  her 
compliance;  now  she  was  selling  clothes  and  trinkets. 

We  are  all  salespeople  in  one  branch  or  another:  aristo- 
crats with  show-windows  full  of  pedigrees  and  favors  and 
antique  furniture  of  every  sort;  artists  marketing  their 
dreams  and  handiwork;  military  men  their  labor  and 
their  safety;  clergymen  their  voices  and  dogmas.  Even 
wives  and  sweethearts  were  always  price-tagging  more  or 
less  of  themselves  for  more  or  less  of  some  man's  cash  or 
credit. 

Daphne  felt  that  she  was  honester  now  than  she  had 
ever  been.  She  was  actually  less  in  trade  than  ever, 
because  she  was  now  vending  less  precious  things.  By 

524 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

means  of  commercialism  she  was  protecting  her  soul  and 
body  from  the  auction-block.  It  is  better  to  sell  the 
things  you  make  than  to  sell  the  things  you  are. 

Daphne  was  afraid,  however,  that  Clay  was  not  eman- 
cipated enough  to  appreciate  this.  She  was  afraid  that 
she  had  bought  her  shop  at  the  price  of  her  love.  The 
hospital  was  a  jail  now;  she  was  withheld  from  pursuing 
both  her  new  business  of  selling  bridewear  and  the  original 
woman  business  of  becoming  a  bride. 


CHAPTER  LXXVI 

IT  was  a  Kip  habit  to  conceal  misfortunes  from  "the 
family"  as  long  as  possible.  When  Daphne  and  Bay- 
ard were  away  at  school  they  had  never  let  their  parents 
know  of  their  illnesses  till  they  were  over.  And  Mrs. 
Kip  alluded  to  her  own  or  their  father's  ailments  only 
in  the  past  tense. 

So  Bayard  and  Daphne  had  agreed  that  no  mention  of 
this  disaster  should  be  made  to  the  old  folks  at  home. 
But  the  accident  which  had  gained  a  front-page  position 
in  the  New  York  papers  caught  too  many  Cleveland  eyes, 
and  Wesley  Kip  and  his  wife  learned  the  news  from  people 
who  called  them  up  to  ask  the  news. 

Wesley  sent  an  excited  telegram  which  Bayard  answered 
in  the  most  reassuring  terms,  which  convinced  his  parents 
so  much  that  on  the  second  forenoon  they  walked  into 
the  hospital. 

When  a  nurse  brought  up  their  names  Daphne  and 
Bayard  were  stunned.  They  could  not  refuse  to  receive 
their  parents.  One  can  hardly  do  that.  In  fact,  now  that 
they  were  at  hand,  Daphne  grew  homesick  for  them.  She 
longed  for  that  motherly  bosom-haven  and  for  that  look 
in  her  father's  eyes,  for  the  tame  simplicity  of  the  old 
couple. 

In  marched  two  exceedingly  well-groomed  persons. 
Prosperity  had  played  havoc  with  Daphne's  homely 
parents.  Wesley's  tailor  had  renovated  him  entirely  and 
the  wife's  dressmaker  had  found  magic  garments  that 
took  years  and  years  from  her  age.  Daphne  stared,  and 
felt  disowned.  Her  parents  had  abandoned  themselves 
and  her. 

526 


H 


E  also  was  mutely  begging  to  be  felt  sorry  for.    Daph 
comforting  just  now  as  a  hearty,  reassuring  lie. 


•t  ached  out  to  him.     She  could  think  of  nothing  SQ 
ipered:    "It's  all  my  fault,  honey." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

But  it  would  have  taken  more  than  a  well-cut  gown 
or  a  smart  coat  to  alter  the  fact  that  these  were  her  very 
own  people  who  had  come  hundreds  of  miles  to  see  their 
poor  child. 

Wesley  and  his  wife  were  amazed  by  Daphne's  agility 
as  she  sprang  about  the  bed.  They  had  rather  expected 
to  find  her  hopelessly  incapacitated.  They  had  come 
with  heartfuls  of  sympathy  to  squander.  Mrs.  Kip  had 
counted  on  having  Daphne  back  to  nurse.  She  was 
almost  disappointed. 

But  Leila  required  all  their  excess  of  tenderness.  She 
frightened  them  with  her  deficit  of  health  and  beauty. 
None  the  less,  Wesley,  always  the  gallant  in  his  way, 
blurted  out: 

"Well,  well,  how  fine  you  look,  Leila,  child.  Don't  she 
look  fine,  mother?  Isn't  she  pirty?" 

The  elder  Mrs.  Kip  tried  to  agree  that  the  younger 
Mrs.  Kip  made  a  good  appearance,  but  she  was  uncon- 
vincing. 

Leila  groaned.  "Fine  and  pretty"  was  what  she 
wanted  to  be,  and  her  terror  now  was  not  that  she  might 
die,  but  that  she  might  live  on  unlovely  and  therefore 
unlovable.  Women  incessantly  make  the  mistake  of 
thinking  that  they  hold  their  husbands'  love  by  their 
beauty;  as  if  the  most  beautiful  woman  had  and  kept 
the  most  lovers — a  manifest  untruth.  At  any  rate,  Leila 
accepted  the  fallacy  as  gospel.  The  beauty  she  had 
flaunted  for  her  own  glory  and  the  tantalizing  of  her 
husband  and  other  men  became  now  a  solemn  necessity 
for  the  salvation  of  her  home  by  the  retention  of  her  mate. 
It  was  no  longer  a  vanity,  an  adornment  for  her  own 
prestige:  it  was  a  duty  to  Bayard. 

She  had  an  instinct  for  keeping  the  house  beautiful  by 
keeping  the  housekeeper  beautiful. 

Leila  was  determined  to  endure  everything  that  might 
be  necessary  to  regain  her  beauty.  She  would  go  through 
any  ordeal  of  knives  or  plaster  casts  or  splints  or  medicines 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

for  that.  She  was  quite  grim  about  it.  Her  resolution 
extended  to  the  spending  of  as  much  of  Bayard's  money 
as  might  be  necessary  on  surgeons'  fees  and  doctors'  bills. 
If  she  bankrupted  Bayard  it  would  be  with  the  tenderest 
motives. 

Five  times  she  went  to  the  operating-table,  made  that 
infernal  journey  into  ether-land,  knowing  what  after- 
anguishes  waited  her,  what  retching  and  burning  and 
bleeding.  She  braved  death  again  and  again,  took  long 
chances  with  cowering  bravado.  And  all  for  Bayard's 
sake. 

The  last  time,  as  she  throbbed  on  the  live  coals  of  agony, 
she  whispered  to  Bayard:  "Boy,  I'm  going  the  limit  for 
you.  But  this  must  be  the  last.  If  this  doesn't  succeed, 
let  me  die.  I'd  rather  die  than  be  an  eyesore  to  you." 
And  then  she  grew  incoherent  and  babbled  of  red  flames. 

The  fight  for  beauty  was  her  one  reason  for  existence 
during  the  next  months.  She  felt  a  little  remorse  for  her 
disloyalty  to  Bayard,  but  not  much.  In  the  first  place, 
it  was  largely  his  own  fault ;  he  should  have  spent  less  of 
his  time  at  his  business  and  more  on  her  entertainment. 
Strange  that  he  had  left  her  alone  so  much  when  she  was 
at  her  best,  and  neglected  his  business  for  her  so  much  now 
that  she  was  ugly  and  dismal,  with  only  one  theme  of  talk, 
her  multitudinous  distresses. 

She  felt,  too,  that  whatever  blame  she  might  have 
earned  for  her  flirtation  with  Wetherell  had  been  amply 
expiated  by  her  punishment — her  unmerited  punishment 
for  what  she  had  not  done.  She  had  not  run  the  car.  She 
had  objected  to  its  speed,  and  demanded  that  Wetherell 
stop  and  let  her  out. 

Then  the  accident  befell,  and  she  was  battered  almost  to 
death. 

So  it  always  goes ;  we  get  punished  for  what  we  did  not 
do  or  did  not  mean  to  do.  And  at  that  one  might  ask 
why  we  should  be  punished  at  all,  seeing  that  we  do  what 
we  do  because  we  are  what  we  are  or  because  our  environ- 

532 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

merits  and  circumstances  are  what  they  are.     How  can  one 
will  to  do  the  right  thing  when  the  will  itself  is  lacking  ? 

There  are  noble  souls,  indeed,  who  declare  that  punish- 
ment is  unprofitable  at  best,  that  it  is  more  criminal  than 
the  crimes  it  punishes.  A  generation  ago  man  took  hell 
away  from  God;  now  he  is  showing  a  tendency  to  take 
it  away  from  himself  as  well.  He  finds  that  a  hell  is  a 
poor  place  to  learn  genuine  repentance.  On  the  grid- 
iron one's  heart  fills  with  regret,  perhaps,  but  also  with 
upward  hatred  and  self-pity. 

So  Leila  grew  bitter  against  the  wanton  destruction  of 
her  grace  and  her  health.  Her  watchword  was  a  resentful 
' '  Why  ?  Why  this  to  me  ?  When  so  many  wicked  women 
are  going  about  laughing,  why  am  I  here?"  When  she 
learned  by  indirection  that  Daphne  had  taken  on  herself 
the  blame  for  the  excursion,  Leila  did  not  contradict  her  to 
Bayard.  In  fact,  when  Daphne  was  well  enough  to  be 
moved  into  Leila's  room  for  a  visit  Leila  told  her: 

"The  robe  of  martyr  is  so  becoming  to  you,  Daphne, 
that  I'm  going  to  let  you  wear  it." 

This  did  not  increase  Daphne's  respect  for  Leila,  but 
it  did  increase  her  pity;  and  there  grew  up  between  the 
sisters-in-law  an  affection  that  gradually  effaced  the 
hyphen.  At  that  day  the  very  word  "hyphen"  had  as- 
sumed a  national  importance. 

Daphne  drove  Bayard  from  the  hospital  to  his  office. 
She  could  see  that  he  was  jading  with  the  drain  on  his 
sympathetic  faculties  and  growing  morbid  over  the  neglect 
of  his  crippled  business.  He  had  been  heaping  up  doctors' 
bills  and  letting  his  work  go. 

And  now  once  more  he  was  slaving  at  his  job,  trying  to 
outrun  Leila's  extravagance.  Her  dressmakers  were  doc- 
tors now;  their  toil  the  remodeling  of  her  frame  to  the 
current  fashion  of  two  legs  and  two  arms  of  normal  design 
and  action.  She  was  trying  to  garb  herself  in  a  new  robe 
of  silken  skin  of  the  modish  color — white,  with  a  cast  of 
pink. 

533 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Wesley  and  his  wife  did  not  make  a  long  visit.  After 
the  first  bliss  of  reclaiming  their  children  they  lost  them 
again.  Bayard  was  at  his  office  all  the  time.  Daphne 
was  restless  for  her  shop.  And  Wesley  could  not  keep 
his  mind  off  his  own  factory.  He  was  more  afraid  now  of 
the  prospects  of  peace  in  Europe  than  he  had  been  aghast 
at  the  price  of  war.  For  when  peace  was  declared  his 
contracts  would  cease. 

The  war  had  made  a  profound  revolution  in  such  gentle 
souls  as  his.  All  America,  indeed,  was  in  a  curious  mood 
of  horror  at  the  slaughter  and  dread  of  its  cessation. 

But  the  dread  was  ill-founded.  Somewhere  the  mutual 
enemies  of  Europe  found  always  new  men  to  shovel  into 
the  furnace.  Each  victory  of  the  Germans  and  Austrians 
increased  the  determination  of  the  Allies. 

Wesley  went  back  to  Cleveland  and  took  his  wife  along 
the  day  after  Daphne  went  back  to  her  shop.  Leila  alone 
remained  in  the  hospital,  visited  daily  by  Daphne  and 
Bayard. 

One  morning  when  Bayard  reached  his  office  after  a 
harrowing  all-night  vigil  at  Leila's  side  he  was  just  falling 
asleep  over  the  first  mail  when  his  telephone  snarled.  He 
reached  for  it  with  alarm.  A  voice  boomed  in  his  ear: 

"Ah  you  thah?" 

"Yes." 

"Keep  the  line,  please.     Now,  you  ah  through,  sir?" 

Then  a  growl  replaced  the  boom,  a  growl  that  made  the 
receiver  rattle : 

"Ah  you  thah,  Mr.  Kip?  This  is  Colonel  Marchmont. 
I  dare  say  you  remember  our  conversation  about  those 
damned  contracts  with  Wetherell.  A  little  farther  dis- 
cussion might  not  be  amiss — if  you  could  make  it  per- 
fectly convenient  to  drop  ovah  at,  say,  a  quawtah  pahst 
fah? — Good!  I  shall  expect  you  at  that  ah." 

Bayard  pondered.  What  new  persecution  was  fate  pre- 
paring? What  new  rod  was  in  pickle  for  his  welted  back? 
The  only  thing  he  could  think  of  was  a  threat  of  im- 

534 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

prisonment.      He  did  not  see  how  he  was  liable,  but  ill 
luck  will  find  the  way. 

Later,  as  he  went  to  the  office,  he  bought  an  evening 
paper.  A  heavily  headed  cablegram  announced  that  the 
laborers  in  the  British  munition-works  were  striking  or 
threatening  to  strike.  The  fighting  aristocracy  raged  at 
the  treachery  of  the  factory  soldiers;  but  the  laborers  in- 
sisted that  the  makers  of  weapons  were  growing  rich  from 
the  fat  contracts  with  the  government  and  that  the 
laborers  had  a  right  to  a  look-in  at  least. 

A  gleam  of  understanding  came  into  Bayard's  eye. 
He  winked  solemnly  at  nobody  in  particular,  unless  it 
were  at  his  frowning  fate.  When  he  reached  the  desk  of 
Colonel  Marchmont  he  looked  unabashed  into  the  re- 
volver muzzle  of  the  old  war-horse's  one  eye. 

Without  any  preliminary  courtesies  or  any  softening  of 
his  previous  tone  the  colonel  snorted:  "Those  devilish 
contracts  you  made  with  Wetherell —  The  poor  fellow  is 
no  longer  alive — more's  the  pity,  but —  Well,  I'm  afraid 
I  was  a  bit  severe  with  you.  I  fancy  you've  rather  let 
yourself  in  for  a  rather  heavy  bill  of  costs  and  all  that. 
Now  we  have  no  desire  to  impose  any  hardship  on  you. 
Of  course  Wetherell  was  a  confounded  scoundrel,  and  we 
can't  begin  to  pay  the  prices  he  fixed.  But  we  might  see 
our  way  to  renewing  those  contracts  at  a  reasonable 
figure — say  at  a  twenty-five-per-cent.  reduction  from  the 
terms  you  quoted." 

Bayard  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  He  bluffed  the 
bluffer.  "The  prices  we  quoted  included  only  a  fair 
profit,  Colonel.  Since  then  materials  have  been  going  up 
in  price  every  minute,  owing  to  the  demand  from  abroad. 
And  the  home  market  is  booming.  Railroad  stocks  are 
rising  again.  Railroads  are  in  the  market  for  new  equip- 
ment. The  building  trades  are  busy.  The  steel-mills  are 
running  nights  again.  New  blast-furnaces  are  being  blown 
in  as  fast  as  the  men  can  be  hired  back.  We  can  sell  all 
our  product  here,  and  more,  too,  than  we  can  make." 

535 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Colonel  Marchmont  squirmed,  but  he  was  a  soldier  and 
loved  a  good  counter-attack.  He  smiled  as  he  squirmed. 
He  pooh-poohed  and  baw-hawed  only  a  moment  or  two 
before  he  laid  down  his  arms.  Wetherell  was  avenged 
when  his  successor  signed  new  contracts  at  a  higher  price 
than  he  had  made.  The  changing  times  changed  every- 
thing; yesterday's  exorbitance  was  to-day's  bargain. 

Bayard  departed  with  a  wallet  full  of  business.  He  got 
back  to  his  office  on  feet  fledged  with  Mercurial  wings. 
His  feet  were  beautiful  on  the  rug  of  the  president's  office. 
The  whole  office  sniffed  the  breeze  of  prosperity  revivify- 
ing the  torpid  air. 

Bayard  felt  so  kindly  to  all  the  world  that  he  hurried 
to  the  hospital  to  scatter  good  news  like  flowers  over 
Leila's  couch.  She  was  in  that  humor  when  anybody's 
else  good  fortune  was  an  added  grief  to  her. 

"I'm  no  use  to  you  now,"  she  wailed.  "I  never  was 
much.  But  at  least  I  dressed  and  kept  looking  fit.  And 
you  said  I  was  pretty.  But  now- —  Oh,  Bayard,  Bayard ! 
You  used  to  call  me  beautiful,  and  I  tried  to  be  beautiful 
for  you.  But  now —  Oh,  dear,  oh  dear!  It's  awfully 
lonely,  being  a  cripple.  Daphne  is  away  all  day.  She's 
the  happy  one.  She  works.  If  only  I  could  work  a  little 
and  help  you.  I'm  only  a  drag  on  your  nerves  and  your 
poor  strength.  And  I  do  so  want  to  help  you.  I'll  never 
be  pretty  again,  but  if  I  could  only  find  some  work  to 
do  I  wouldn't  be  so  useless.  To  be  ugly  and  useless  both 
— it's  too  much!" 

Wise  pathfinders  say  that  when  you  are  wandering  in 
strange  country  you  should  turn  every  now  and  then  and 
look  back  at  the  way  you  came.  It  wears  a  different  as- 
pect entirely  from  its  look  as  you  approached,  and  you  will 
need  to  know  how  it  will  look  when  you  return. 

People  who  have  lived  turn  and  look  back  and  see  their 
lives  in  retrospect.  Sometimes  they  shout  to  those  who 
are  coming  up  along  the  same  path,  warning  them  of 
treacherous  spots  and  misleading  paths.  But  the  wind 

536 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

carries  their  voices  away  or  renders  them  unintelligible. 
That  thin  voice  which  distance  blurs  or  distorts  is  known 
as  advice,  and  the  fates  that  made  it  the  easiest  of  all 
things  to  shout,  keep  it  the  hardest  of  all  to  hear. 

From  childhood  on,  Leila  had  been  warned  against 
extravagance — as  Bayard  had,  as  have  we  all.  But  only 
now  that  she  was  looking  backward  could  she  realize  the 
wisdom,  the  intolerable  truth,  of  the  adage,  "Waste  not, 
want  not." 

Meanwhile  Daphne  was  having  so  different  a  history 
that  she  felt  ashamed.  It  seemed  unfair  to  her  to  get 
well  quickly  and  with  no  blemish  except  a  scar  or  two  that 
would  not  show,  while  Leila  hung  between  death  and 
deformity. 

But  seeing  Bayard  alone  and  hearing  Leila  fret,  she  felt 
confirmed  in  her  belief  that  she  had  done  the  wholesome 
thing  when  she  joined  the  laboring  classes.  There  were 
discouragements  without  cease,  yet  Daphne  was  learning 
what  a  remedy  for  how  many  troubles  there  is  in  work. 
It  seemed  to  be  almost  panacea.  It  was  exciting,  fatigu- 
ing, alarming,  but  it  was  objective.  She  was  not  fretting 
over  soul  states  and  social  statuses  and  love  torments  and 
temptations.  She  was  struggling  to  make  the  bravest 
show  on  the  least  expense,  using  her  mind  instead  of  her 
heart,  studying  the  conditions  of  the  market  and  not  the 
whims  of  her  conscience  as  it  alternately  reproached  and 
approved  the  same  moods. 

She  was  on  her  way  at  last  to  that  fifty  thousand  a  year 
she  had  dreamed  of.  She  was  uncertain  yet  of  earning  a 
thousand  a  year,  but  she  was  on  the  road. 

In  Hawthorne's  day  the  poverty-stricken  tenant  of  the 
House  of  the  Seven  Gables  had  nothing  to  do  but  devote 
one  little  room  to  the  sale  of  cheap  sweets,  for,  as  he  said 
in  1841,  a  "petty  shop  was  a  woman's  only  resource." 
In  1915  there  was  no  limit  to  woman's  opportunity. 

NOW  came  Daphne  and  thousands  like  her  assailing  the 

537 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

bazars  of  the  world,  selecting  their  trades  and  profes- 
sions, exploiting  their  wiles  and  fascinations  in  the  market- 
place, and  trying  to  wheedle  their  moneys  from  the  public 
instead  of  their  immediate  men.  Thus  their  sex  became 
more  sacred,  a  flame  for  the  altars  of  romance  whether 
of  virtue  or  of  sin,  but  at  least  not  so  necessary  a  device 
for  money-changing. 

Daphne  went  back  to  the  shop  ahead  of  the  doctor's 
permission.  She  was  weak  at  first,  and  fluttery,  but  the 
atmosphere  of  trade  was  more  tonic  than  that  of  any 
health  resort.  She  had  neither  time  nor  strength  to  think 
of  love  or  lovers  during  the  busy  day.  But  all  her  eve- 
nings were  as  dull  as  a  business  man's  in  a  strange  town  on 
Sunday.  She  had  no  family,  no  club,  and  she  did  not 
play  billiards. 


CHAPTER  LXXVII 

WIMBURN,  like  the  shrewd  business  man  he 
was,  finding  that  his  big  gold-mine  had  faulted,  had 
gone  prospecting  for  a  new  lode.  He  wandered  from  city 
to  city.  The  factories  everywhere  were  busy,  most  of 
them  at  munitions  of  one  sort  or  another:  the  cutlery 
works  were  making  bayonets  and  trench  mattocks;  the 
motor  factories  were  making  flying-machines,  war  trucks, 
and  ambulances;  the  cotton-mills,  bandages  and  uni- 
forms and  pajamas. 

Labor  was  scarce  and  high;  manufacturers  were  hasty 
and  curt.  Nobody  had  time  to  listen  to  him  or  needed 
his  aid.  He  had  worked  his  way  beyond  Chicago  and 
was  westering  when  he  saw  from  the  train  what  he  had 
not  seen  for  months,  a  large  factory  plant  closed  up, 
abandoned.  It  had  somehow  been  overlooked  by  the 
munitions-makers.  Clay  dropped  off  the  train  and  began 
to  investigate. 

The  owner  had  died  heartbroken  by  the  hard  times. 
He  had  died  intestate,  leaving  a  squad  of  quarreling  heirs 
and  a  tangle  of  debts. 

Clay  studied  the  situation  and  fled  back  to  Cleveland. 
He  found  among  his  acquaintances  there  a  man  or  two  for 
whom  he  had  made  big  money.  He  borrowed  largely  on 
usurious  terms,  with  no  security  but  his  own  word  and  his 
past  performances.  He  returned  to  the  village  where  by 
pretended  indifference  and  a  careless  display  of  large 
cash  he  wrought  the  heirs  to  a  frenzy  of  impatience  and  a 
miracle  of  agreement.  This  took  time  and  a  show  of 
public  calm  which  belied  his  frantic  Marathons  about  his 
hotel  room. 

539 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

Out  there  in  that  village  he  did  not  see  the  New  York 
papers  or  any  other  record  of  Daphne's  accident.  She 
was  out  of  the  hospital  before  he  closed  the  deal  and 
emerged  as  the  owner  of  a  furnace  tract  of  fifteen  acres  and 
a  slag  bank  of  sixteen.  He  got  them  for  one  hundred  and 
forty  thousand  dollars.  While  he  was  at  it  he  picked  up 
an  adjoining  farm  for  five  thousand  dollars.  As  soon  as 
the  deeds  were  recorded  he  sped  to  Pittsburg  and  quickly 
disposed  of  his  holdings  to  the  owners  of  a  chain  of  pig- 
iron  works  for  two  hundred  and  seventy  thousand  dollars. 
He  dashed  back  to  Illinois  to  record  these  new  deeds. 
Then  he  returned  to  New  York  with  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  clear  profit,  all  his  own.  He  swag- 
gered into  Bayard's  office  to  tell  him  the  news. 

"Five  thou.  a  day  is  not  so  worse  pay  for  a  young 
feller,  huh?  Neat  little  problem  in  math.  Capital  noth- 
ing, profit  one  twenty-five  thou.  What  is  the  percentage? 
About  twice  infinity,  eh?  How  much  can  I  lend  you? 
Speak  quick  because  the  government  is  trying  to  borry 
it  off  en  me." 

A  week  before  and  Bayard  would  have  hailed  him  as  a 
guardian  angel  from  on  high.  Now  he  looked  up  and 
laughed: 

"Don't  bother  me.  I'm  too  busy  to  talk  to  little 
pikers." 

He  told  his  own  story.  They  both  roared  grandiosely 
and  were  proud  to  know  each  other.  Those  were  great 
days  for  daring  young  men.  Napoleons  were  to  be  had 
by  the  dozen. 

The  twin  pets  of  fortune  slapped  each  other's  shoulders 
and  crowed  like  the  boys  they  were. 

Actually  Clay  had  called  on  Bayard  less  to  brag  than 
to  learn  about  Daphne.  He  came  at  his  business  by  a 
conspicuously  careless  roundabout. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  "I  saw  your  father  and  mother 
in  Cleveland.  They  were  drifting  down  Euclid  Avenue 
in  a  palace  car  and  floating  very  high." 

540 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Yes,"  said  Bayard.  "They  were  on  here  for  a  few 
days." 

"Is  that  so?  And  how's — er — how's  the  rest  of  the 
family?" 

"Oh,  she's  very  well,  but  Leila's  still  in  the  hospital." 

"In  the  hospital?  Good  Lord!  What's  the  matter? 
Appendicitis?" 

"Automobile  wreck." 

"You  don't  say.     Were  you  hurt?" 

' '  No.  I — I — ' '  He  was  too  busy  to  explain  the  hateful 
affair,  so  he  said,  "No,  I  wasn't  hurt." 

"It's  nothing  serious — about  Leila,  is  it?  Was  she 
badly  injured?" 

"  Pretty  badly.     But  she's  coming  round." 

"Lord,  I  hope  so!    And — you  say  Daphne's  well?" 

"Well,  and  busy." 

"Busy?    What  at?" 

"Oh,  a  crazy  scheme  of  hers.  She's  keeping  a  little 
store." 

' '  Daphne  keeping  a  store  ?    Great  Scott !    What  next  ? ' ' 

"Heaven  only  knows." 

"Where  is — where  is  the  damned  store?" 

Bayard  gave  him  the  address,  and  Clay  wasted  no  time 
asking  further  questions.  He  made  haste  to  the  subway, 
fuming;  left  the  train  at  the  Grand  Central  station  and 
climbed  up  to  a  taxicab. 

He  stopped  it  a  block  below  Daphne's  number.  He 
wanted  to  reconnoiter.  He  paid  the  chauffeur  and  ad- 
vanced with  caution.  There  was  a  little  crowd  of  people 
ahead  of  him.  He  edged  through  it  and  beheld  a  sight 
that  made  him  gape  with  incredulity. 

One  sees  strange  things  in  New  York,  but  Clay  found 
this  unimaginable  and  impossible. 

There,  in  the  New  York  street,  was  Daphne,  standing 
on  a  step-ladder  and  waving  a  monkey-wrench  at  a  man 
in  overalls. 


CHAPTER  LXXVIII 

WHILE  Clay  stared  pop-eyed  and  oh-mouthed  the 
laborer  fell  back  and  Daphne  began  to  apply  the 
monkey-wrench  to  a  signboard  hanging  from  an  iron 
bracket. 

An  explanation  occurred  to  Clay.  In  his  college  days, 
after  the  college  fashion,  he  had  stolen  a  few  tradesmen's 
signs  for  the  decoration  of  his  room.  He  had  heard  of 
college  girls  doing  the  same  thing.  That  must  be  what 
Daphne  was  up  to.  But  in  broad  daylight  and  in  New 
York! 

Now  a  man  somewhat  overdressed  gave  an  order  to  the 
perplexed  man  in  overalls  and  the  man  in  overalls  ad- 
vanced again,  pleading: 

"Please,  Mees  Keep,  don't  you  done  it." 

Daphne  answered:   "I  will!     It's  mine!    Go  away!" 

The  overdressed  man,  with  a  sneer,  pushed  the  laborer 
back  and  set  his  hand  on  the  ladder,  saying:  "Come  on, 
now !  Down  you  come  or  I'll  take  you  down." 

Daphne  promptly  set  one  of  her  French  heels  crunch- 
ingly  on  his  fingers.  He  drew  his  hand  away  and  nursed 
it  a  moment  under  his  other  arm.  The  laughter  of  the 
increasing  crowd  nettled  him.  He  stepped  forward  again 
and  wrapped  his  arm  about  Daphne's  knees.  He  was 
about  to  carry  her  off  on  his  shoulder  as  a  Sabine  prize. 

Daphne  gasped  and  let  the  monkey-wrench  fall  and 
gave  a  little  cry  of  horror  at  his  touch. 

Now  Clay  felt  the  need  of  action.  It  was  just  the 
situation  where  in  romantic  drama  the  hero  draws  his 
sword  and  cries  in  blank  verse:  "Hold,  caitiff  vile,  touch 

542 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

but  the  snowy  hem  of  yonder  maiden's  robe  with  hand  of 
thine  and  I'll  requite  thy  poison  with  my  glave.  I'll  split 
thee  e'en  from  sconce  to  chine" — this  last  for  comic 
relief. 

But  Clay's  vocabulary  was  wretchedly  unworthy  of  the 
occasion.  He  bunted  aside  a  neighbor  and  darted  for- 
ward, growling:  "Here!  What  you  think  you're  trying 
to  do?" 

The  other  man  set  Daphne  back  on  the  ladder  and, 
turning,  answered,  with  equal  impoetry,  "None  of  your 
d— smpff!" 

The  closing  expression  was  the  result  of  Clay's  divinely 
guided  right  fist  smashing  him  on  the  nose  and  mouth. 

The  blow  sent  its  victim  staggering  backward  clear 
across  the  walk  into  a  lamp-post,  whence  he  rebounded 
against  the  envious  left  fist  of  Clay,  who  had  followed  fast 
enough  to  whip  it  into  his  mid-waistcoat. 

The  fellow  was  big  and  no  coward,  but  his  brain  was 
first  jolted  by  the  unexpected  blow,  then  by  the  lamp- 
post's attack  from  the  rear,  then  by  the  disheartening 
stomach  punch.  But  most  of  all  he  was  upset  by  the  loss 
of  his  hat.  There  is  much  importance  in  a  hat. 

Men  occasionally  threaten  to  fight,  yet  rarely  come  to 
blows.  But  they  are  incessantly  having  their  hats  blown 
off;  hence,  incessantly  clutching  at  them.  The  first  im- 
pulse of  the  muscles  of  this  man  was,  therefore,  to  clutch 
for  his  hat;  the  first  impulse  of  his  eyes  was  to  follow  it 
into  the  gutter. 

It  was  a  new  Knox,  and  it  had  mud  on  it  now.  Also 
his  nose  had  blood  on  it.  A  man  with  a  new  suit  and  a 
nose-bleed  is  busy  enough  without  other  distractions. 

The  physiological  psychological  hat  reaction  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  man's  disgrace  and  also  for  his  protection. 
It  worked  both  ways.  Clay  had  thrown  himself  forward 
with  such  violence  that  he  had  left  his  own  hat  behind  in 
the  air.  His  muscles  played  him  the  same  trick',  and  before 
he  knew  it  he  found  himself  stooping  and  groping  backward 

543 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

about  the  sidewalk  while  he  kept  his  eye  on  the  similarly 
ridiculous  figure  of  his  adversary. 

The  men  in  the  crowd  were  exulting  in  the  prospect  of  a 
free  bout.  A  few  women  were  deliciously  hoping  that 
they  were  going  to  faint. 

But  street  fights  may  be  guaranteed  to  disappoint. 
The  spectators  had  already  had  all  they  were  going  to  get 
of  this  one  and  more  than  they  usually  got.  They  had  seen 
two  blows  artistically  planted.  What  followed  was  dull. 

Clay's  victim  found  his  hat,  and  while  he  rubbed  it 
across  his  elbow  advanced  on  his  crouching  assailant  and 
spoke  through  the  handkerchief  at  his  nose : 

"Say,  who  are  you,  anyway?  What  right  you  got 
horning  in  here,  anyhow?" 

Clay  answered,  "That's  my  business — and  Miss  Kip's." 
He  rose  and  stood  a  little  taller  than  he  was  and  frogged 
his  chest  wider  than  it  was. 

Seeing  that  Clay  knew  Daphne's  name  and  was  not 
merely  a  foreigner  violating  the  laws  of  neutrality,  and  see- 
ing also  that  Clay  was  hungry  for  more  calisthenics  and 
about  to  begin  a  new  assault,  the  stranger  found  a  convenient 
loophole  of  escape.  He  made  a  magnanimous  surrender: 

"Well,  if  the  little  lady  wants  the  sign  she  can  have  it. 
But  you  wait  till  I  get  a  fair  chance  at  you,  you — you — 
Well,  I  can't  say  it  in  the  presence  of  ladies." 

"Go  on!  Say  it!"  Clay  demanded,  working  the 
knuckles  of  his  fists. 

The  crowd  grew  cheerful  again,  and  Daphne  on  her  lad- 
der suffered  the  raptures  of  a  cave-girl  seeing  her  original 
captor  smite  a  new  persecutor  with  a  stone  ax.  But  the 
festival  was  ruined  by  the  abrupt  intervention  of  a 
policeman,  the  tardy  but  inevitable  killjoy.  He  came  in 
growling  his  usual  leit-motiv: 

"Here,  here.     Wassa  matter  here?" 

In  the  face  of  this  intervention  the  mutual  enemies  as- 
sumed a  look  of  brotherly  love  and  confronted  their  com- 
mon peril  with  a  duet: 

544 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

"Nothing!     What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

Strange  idioms  of  colloquial  life!  Just  to  ask  a  man 
about  his  ailments — to  ask  an  unanswerable  question  with 
no  interest  in  the  answer — is  accepted  as  a  challenge  and 
a  repartee. 

To  Clay's  disgust,  his  quondam  foeman  made  a  glib 
explanation : 

"This  gentleman  bumped  into  me  by  accident  and 
knocked  off  my  lid,  and  he  was  just  apologizing." 

The  policeman  laughed  sophisticatedly  out  of  one  side 
of  his  mouth,  and  spat  aside  with  majesty.  He  com- 
plimented the  ready  speaker : 

"You're  right  there  with  the  cute  come-back,  ain't 
you?  Well,  brush  by  or  I'll  take  a  swipe  at  your  lid 
meself." 

"This  is  my  store.     I'm  the  agent  for  it." 

The  officer  turned  to  Clay.  "You  git  a  move  on,  then, 
or— 

Clay  retorted,  "This  is  Miss  Kip's  store,  and  I'm  her 
fiance." 

The  officer  turned,  descried  the  gracious  outlines  of 
Daphne — who  made  no  denial  of  Clay's  words — smiled 
at  her  with  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur,  and,  turning  to  the 
crowd,  roared,  "Beat  it,  you  lobsters,  or  I'll  run  yous  all 
in."  Then  he  moved  on  himself,  laughing. 

Clay  and  his  anonymous  adversary  looked  at  each  other 
and  laughed. 

"Shake!"  said  the  adversary. 

Their  hands  shot  out  and  they  shook.  It  is  a  national 
habit.  The  adversary  nodded  to  the  man  in  overalls  and 
said,  "She  can  have  it."  He  lifted  his  slightly  stained 
derby  and  said,  "Help  yourself,  Miss  Kip,"  winked  at 
Clay,  and  took  himself  out  of  the  scene. 

Daphne  came  down  the  ladder  with  knees  ashiver  and 
put  out  her  hand.  Clay  put  out  his,  and  they  also  shook. 
The  overalls  went  up  the  ladder  while  Clay  said  to  Daphne: 

"And  now  what  in  the  name  of  Heaven  is  it  all  about?" 
18  545 


CHAPTER  LXXIX 

inside,"  said  Daphne.  She  led  him  into  a 
little  shop  empty  of  everything  but  the  debris  of 
removal. 

"Where  are  we?"  said  Clay. 

"This  was  my  shop." 

"What's  the  matter?  Busted  already?"  Clay  asked, 
with  a  not  unflattering  cheerfulness. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  Daphne  explained.  "We've  ex- 
panded so  fast  we  had  to  move.  Got  in  some  big  orders. 
Put  three  sewing-girls  to  work  in  a  room  up-stairs.  Had 
a  call  from  a  nosy  building-inspector.  He  said  we  were 
now  a  factory  and  had  to  have  fire-walls  and  fire-escapes 
and  all  sorts  of  things.  We'd  outgrown  this  little  hole- 
in-the-wall,  anyway.  So  we  sublet  and  moved  across  the 
street. 

"When  we  came  to  take  the  sign  with  us,  that  smarty- 
cat  of  a  real-estate  agent  that  you  hit  such  a  lovely  poke 
said  we  couldn't  take  it. 

"I  said  I  would  so! 

"He  said  it  was  nailed  on  and  according  to  the  law  it 
had  to  be  left. 

"I  said,  'I  don't  care.  I  didn't  write  the  law  or  agree 
to  it.'  I  told  the  moving-van  man  to  take  it.  He 
chased  him  away.  So  I  just  got  a  step-ladder  and  started 
to  take  it  down  myself.  It  was  painted  especially  for  us 
by  an  artist  friend  of  Mrs.  Chiwis'  and  I  didn't  propose 
to  leave  it. 

"Heaven  knows  what  would  have  happened,  though, 
if  you  hadn't  come  along  like  an  angel.  Wasn't  the 

546 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

creature  hateful?  Why  didn't  you  send  me  word?  You 
must  have  heard  of  my  terrible  accident.  Didn't  you? 
You  weren't  mad,  were  you?  Anyway,  you're  looking 
mighty  well,  aren't  you?  And  I'll  have  to  forgive  you, 
won't  I?" 

Clay's  one  comprehensive  answer  to  the  jumble  of 
questions  was  an  eloquent,  "Whew!" 

Now  he  recognized  Mrs.  Chiwis,  who  had  stood  wring- 
ing her  hands  over  Daphne's  boldness  and  her  helplessness 
and  her  equally  terrifying  rescue. 

"You  remember  Mrs.  Chiwis,  don't  you?"  said 
Daphne.  "Mrs.  Chiwis,  you  haven't  forgotten  Mr. 
Wimburn.  He's  kept  away  so  long  you  might  have, 
though.  Where've  you  been,  Clay?  But  wait — you  can 
tell  me  on  the  way  over  to  the  new  shop." 

She  led  him  to  the  sidewalk.  The  janitor  had  just 
brought  down  the  signboard.  He  gave  it  to  Daphne  with 
awkward  gallantry  and  she  handed  it  over  to  Clay  and 
marched  across  the  street,  stopping  impetuous  taxicabs 
with  a  wave  of  her  hand. 

Clay  followed  like  a  messenger-boy.  She  had  him  not 
only  carrying  bundles  again,  but  actually  carrying  an 
advertisement  of  her  business!  And  he  had  forbidden 
her  to  go  into  business ! 

Now  that  he  was  rich  again,  it  was  intolerable  that  she 
should  have  any  business  but  his.  Still  he  toted  her 
lumber  for  her,  looking  down  at  its  legend  with  a  wry 
grimace.  He  was  infuriated  at  the  picture  of  the  under^ 
clothed  woman,  and  the  lettering:  " Boudoirwear.  Ex- 
quisite things  for  brides.  Miss  Kip.  Mrs.  Chiwis." 

His  wife-to-be  flaunting  her  maiden  name  on  a  sign- 
board! It  was  humiliating  to  degradation. 

When  she  led  him  into  her  new  emporium  the  graceful 
fabrics  displayed  were  all  red  rags  to  him.  He  was  a  bull 
in  a  crimson  shop. 

Daphne  made  Clay  sit  down  and  asked  him  if  it  were 
not  all  perfectly  lovely.  He  waited  until  Mrs.  Chiwis 

547 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

went  on  to  the  work-room.  He  had  a  glimpse  of  a  num- 
ber of  girls  and  women  on  sewing  bent.  They  were 
laughing  and  chattering. 

He  answered,  "It's  perfectly  loathsome." 

Instead  of  resenting  this  insult  Daphne  laughed  till  she 
fell  against  the  counter.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  her 
eyes  were  so  tender. 

"Where  did  you  get  all  the  capital  for  all  this  stock?" 
Clay  demanded,  with  sudden  suspicion. 

"Oh,  part  of  it  we  bought  on  credit  and  part  of  it  on 
borrowed  money." 

"Borrowed  from  whom?" 

"From  Mr.  Duane." 

This  was  too  much  of  too  much.  It  brought  Clay  up- 
standing. "There  was  just  one  thing,"  he  growled,  "that 
spoiled  my  fun  to-day  when  I  punched  that  fellow  in  the 
snoot,  and  that  was — " 

"That  it  wasn't  Tom  Duane's  snoot,"  Daphne  finished 
for  him,  with  a  chuckle  of  amiable  derision. 

"Yes !"  Clay  stormed.     "And  I'll  get  him  next." 

"Oh  no,  you  won't!" 

"Oh  yes,  I  will!" 

"I  won't  have  you  assaulting  the  best  friend  I've  got  in 
the  world." 

He  groaned  aloud  at  this,  not  noticing  how  she  used  the 
word  "friend."  She  ran  on.  She  had  not  talked  to  him 
for  so  long  that  she  was  a  perfect  chatterbox. 

"He  lent  me  five  hundred  dollars  when  I  didn't  know 
where  else  to  get  it.  And  it  nailed  our  first  real  contract — 
a  big  commission  from  old  Mrs.  Romilly.  She  was  crazy 
about  our  work  and  sent  us  other  customers.  We  paid 
back  Mr.  Duane's  five  hundred  and  then — "  She  giggled 
in  advance  at  what  was  coming  to  Clay.  "And  then  I 
borrowed  a  thousand  from  him.  We  owe  him  that  now." 

Clay  was  as  wroth  as  she  had  wished,  but  he  recovered 
handsomely  after  the  first  struggle.  He  took  out  a  little 
book.  "Well,  I'll  give  you  a  check  for  that  amount — 

548 


or  more.  And  you  can  pay  Duane  off  with  interest.  I 
won't  have  you  owing  him  money." 

"You  won't  have!"  Daphne  mocked.  "You  won't 
have?  Since  when  did  you  become  senior  partner  here?" 

"Senior  partner!"  Clay  railed.  "I'm  only  the  fellow 
that  carries  your  signs  across  the  street.  And  I'm  no 
partner  in  this  business !  I  hate  this  business.  It  makes 
me  sick  to  see  you  in  it." 

"Then  step  out  on  the  walk,"  said  Daphne.  "You're 
scaring  away  customers  and  using  up  the  time  of  the  firm. 
The  boudoir  is  no  place  for  you,  anyway." 

A  young  woman  with  a  bridal  eye  walked  in  and 
Daphne  left  Clay  to  blunder  out  sheepishly.  He  did  not 
see  that  she  cast  sheep's  eyes  after  him.  He  was  a  most 
bewildered  young  man.  He  had  made  a  pile  of  money 
and  still  he  was  not  happy ! 


CHAPTER  LXXX 

IN  the  course  of  a  few  wretched  days  Clay  picked  up 
some  of  the  facts  about  Daphne's  presence  in  Wether- 
ell's  fatal  car.  He  was  more  furious  at  her  than  ever  and 
more  incapable  of  hating  her. 

Her  tolerance  of  Duane,  her  escapade  with  Wetherell, 
her  disgusting  commercialism,  offended  him  utterly.  Yet 
he  could  not  grow  indifferent  to  her.  He  could  not  quite 
convince  himself  that  she  had  done  anything  wrong,  or,  if 
she  had,  he  could  not  help  forgiving  her  for  it. 

That  alternation  of  relentless  faultfinding  and  plenary 
indulgence  is  one  of  the  chief  activities  of  love. 

He  saw  Bayard  often,  but  Bayard  knew  little  and  said 
less.  One  afternoon  he  invited  Clay  to  ride  with  him  to 
the  hospital,  whence  Leila  was  to  graduate.  He  warned 
Clay  not  to  betray  how  shocked  he  would  be  at  Leila's 
appearance,  which,  he  said,  was  a  wonderful  improvement 
on  what  it  had  been. 

She  was,  indeed,  a  mere  shell,  and  Clay  was  not  entirely 
successful  with  his  compliments. 

Leila  sighed:  "Much  obliged  for  your  good  intentions. 
I'm  a  mere  sack  of  bones,  but  I'm  going  to  get  well.  The 
doctors  say  that  if  I  take  care  of  myself  every  minute  and 
go  to  a  lot  of  specialists  and  go  to  Bar  Harbor  in  the  hot 
weather  and  to  Palm  Beach  in  the  cold  and  spend  about 
a  million  dollars  I'll  be  myself  some  day.  That's  not 
much,  but  it's  all  I've  got  to  work  for.  Poor  Bydie! 
He  didn't  know  he  was  endowing  a  hospital  when  he 
married  me." 

"What  do  I  care,  honey?"  Bayard  cried,  with  perfect 


EXQUISITE. 
TO*.     SRJPE/ 

MISS  KIP 


The  blow  sent  its  victim  staggering  b 


trd  clear  across  the  walk  into  a  lamp-post. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

chivalry.  "The  money  is  rolling  in  and  I'd  rather  spend 
it  on  you  than  on  anybody  else." 

"The  money's  rollmg  out  just  as  fast  as  it  rolls  in," 
Leila  sighed.  "The  Lord  seems  to  provide  a  new  expense 
for  every  streak  of  luck.  And  that's  my  middle  name — 
Expense.  Tell  the  chauffeur  not  to  go  so  fast,  dear." 

She  had  actually  learned  one  lesson.  That  was  a  hope- 
ful sign.  Bayard  checked  the  driver  and  muttered: 

"Yes,  we  don't  want  a  repetition  of  the  smash-up  that 
Daphne  dragged  you  into  with  her  friend  Wetherell." 

Clay  gave  a  start.  His  eyes  rolled  Leila-ward.  Her  big 
eyes  flashed  into  his  an  appeal  for  silence.  He  understood 
and  kept  the  secret,  but  he  was  so  irate  that  he  dared  not 
trust  himself  in  that  galley  another  moment.  He  looked 
at  his  watch  and  remembered  an  imaginary  business 
engagement. 

He  dropped  out,  and,  finding  a  taxicab,  gave  the  driver 
Daphne's  shop  number.  He  wanted  to  denounce  her  for 
taking  on  her  own  innocent  shoulders  the  blame  for 
Leila's  philandering. 

When  he  reached  the  shop  he  found  her  philandering 
with  Tom  Duane.  By  this  time  he  was  ready  for  punch- 
ing another  nose.  It  was  a  pleasant  pastime  and  the 
appetite  was  growing  on  him. 

But  Mrs.  Chiwis  was  there,  and  a  customer.  Clay 
turned  on  his  heel  to  leave.  Then  he  turned  on  his  heel 
again,  telling  himself  that  he  would  be  damned  if  he  would 
let  Duane  freeze  him  out. 

He  spoke  to  Daphne  politely;  he  told  Duane  that  he 
was  glad  to  see  him.  There  was  an  icicle  on  every  word. 

When  Duane  offered  to  wait  till  Mr.  Wimburn  had 
stated  his  errand  Clay  said  that  he  would  wait  till  Mr. 
Duane  had  finished  his.  He  played  dog  in  the  manger 
and  enjoyed  it  in  a  morbid  fashion.  Duane  left,  finally, 
in  such  confusion  that  he  walked  through  the  wrong  door 
and  entered  the  work-room,  where  a  bevy  of  sewing-girls 
stared  at  him  with  admiration.  He  turned  back  and 

555 


THE  THIRTEENTH   COMMANDMENT 

reached  the  street  without  further  mishap.  Daphne 
asked  him  to  come  again  soon. 

Then  she  asked  Clay  what  she  could  sell  him.  He  said 
he  would~wait  till  the  shop  closed.  She  raised  her  eye- 
brows impudently  and  gave  him  a  chair  in  a  corner.  He 
sat  there  feeling  as  out  of  place  as  a  strange  man  in  a 
harem. 

Eventually  the  last  garrulous  customer  talked  herself 
dumb ;  the  last  sewing-woman  went.  Mrs.  Chivvis  pulled 
down  the  curtains  in  the  show-window  and  at  the  door 
and  bade  good  night  reluctantly. 

Then  Daphne  locked  the  door,  dropped  wearily  into  a 
chair,  and  sighed,  "Well,  Clay." 

"I  want  to  know  why  you  lied  to  Bayard  about  Leila 
and  Wetherell?" 

Daphne  smiled  and  shrugged  her  fascinating  little 
shoulders. 

Clay  went  on:  "And  I  want  to  know  why  you  don't 
give  up  Tom  Duane?" 

She  shrugged  her  excellent  shoulders  again,  but  she  did 
not  smile.  She  spoke  instead:  "I  don't  ask  you  to  give 
up  your  stenographer." 

"Oh,  it's  like  that,  eh?  Well,  then,  why  won't  you  let 
me  lend  you  the  money  instead  of  Tom  Duane?" 

Her  answer  astounded  him  with  its  feminine  logic: 
"I  can  borrow  of  Mr.  Duane  because  I  don't  love  him 
and  never  did  and  he  knows  it.  I  can't  borrow  of  you 
because — " 

He  leaped  at  the  implication:  "Because  you  love  me?" 

"Because  I  used  to." 

"Don't  you  any  more?"  he  groaned. 

"How  can  I  tell?  It's  been  months  and  months  since  I 
saw  the  Clay  Wimburn  that  came  out  to  Cleveland  and 
lured  me  on  to  New  York.  The  only  Clay  Wimburn 
I've  seen  for  some  time  has  been  a  horribly  prosperous, 
domineering  snob  who  is  too  proud  to  be  seen  with  a 
working-woman.  He  wants  to  marry  a  lady.  I  never 

556 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

was  one  and  don't  want  to  be  one.  I'm  a  business  woman 
and  I  love  it." 

"And  you  wouldn't  give  up  your  shop  for  me?" 

"Certainly  not." 

He  looked  at  her  with  baffled  emotions.  She  was  so 
delectable  and  so  obstinate,  so  right-hearted  and  so 
wrong-headed.  It  was  intolerable  that  she  should  keep 
a  shop.  Yet  it  was  rather  cozy  here  in  the  twilight  of 
the  drawn  curtains  with  the  traffic  outside  like  a  trampling 
surf  and  the  walls  covered  with  fabrics  of  a  fireside  glow. 
He  spoke  after  a  long  delay: 

"And  you  really  don't  love  Tom  Duane?" 

"Not  a  bit.     But  I  like  him  mighty  much." 

"More  than  you  like  me?" 

"I  don't  like  you  at  all." 

He  pondered  that.  He  was  tempted  to  find  more  sweet 
than  bitter  in  it.  He  asked,  with  some  timidity,  "May  I 
come  and  see  you  once  in  a  while?" 

"If  you  want  to." 

"Where  you  living  now?" 

"Still  at  the  Chiwises'." 

"You  ought  to  take  better  care  of  yourself  than  that. 
Surely  you  can  afford  a  better  home." 

"I  suppose  so,  but  it  would  be  lonely  anywhere  else. 
It  has  been  safe  there — since  you  quit  calling  on  me.  It 
doesn't  cost  me  much." 

"But  you're  making  so  much  money." 

"Not  so  very  much — yet.  But  I'm  putting  my  mak- 
ings in  the  savings-bank.  I've  got  quite  a  little  stack — 
for  me.  You'd  never  guess  how  much.  It's  nothing  to 
what  you've  got,  of  course,  but  it's  all  my  own  and  I 
made  every  cent  of  it,  and — golly!  how  I  love  to  watch 
it  grow." 

"You  miser!" 

"  Maybe.  I  guess  that's  the  only  way  to  save  money — 
to  make  a  passion  out  of  it  and  get  a  kind  of  voluptuous 
feeling  from  it.  But  I  really  think  that  it's  the  fun  of 

557 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

making  it  that  interests  me  most.  It  certainly  keeps  me 
out  of  mischief  and  out  of  loneliness.  Those  terrible  days 
and  nights  when  I  used  to  sit  in  my  room  looking  down 
at  busy  people  and  wishing  that  some  man  would  come  and 
save  me  from  going  crazy  with  idleness — they're  all  gone. 

"I  don't  have  to  marry  anybody  now  unless  I  want  to. 
If  I  did  marry  and  my  husband  got  sick  or  went  broke  I 
could  take  care  of  him.  If  he  died,  I  shouldn't  have  to  go 
widowing  after  some  other  man  to  support  me.  I  could 
even  afford  a  broken  heart.  Oh,  there's  no  freedom  like 
having  a  job  and  a  little  reserve  in  the  bank.  It's  the 
only  life,  Clay." 

"And  you  wouldn't  give  up  your  'freedom,'  as  you  call 
it,  even  for  a  man  you  loved?  Couldn't  you  love  a  man 
enough  to  do  that?" 

"  I  could  love  a  man  too  much  to  do  that.  For  where's 
the  love  in  a  woman's  sitting  around  the  house  all  day  and 
waiting  for  a  man  to  come  home  and  listen  to  the  gossip  of 
her  empty  brain?  That  isn't  loving,  that's  loafing." 

Clay  was  not  at  all  persuaded.  "But  there's  no  com- 
fort or  home  life  in  marrying  a  business  woman." 

"How  do  you  know?  You  know  plenty  of  unsuccess- 
ful wives  that  are  not  business  women." 

"I  want  a  housekeeper,  not  a  shopkeeper." 

"Go  get  one  then,  I  say.  If  a  woman  can't  earn  enough 
outside  to  hire  a  housekeeper,  let  her  do  her  own  house- 
work. But  if  she  can  earn  enough  to  hire  a  hundred  house- 
keepers, why  should  she  stick  to  the  kitchen?  I  tell  you 
when  my  husband  (if  I  ever  have  one)  comes  home  of 
evenings  after  the  day's  work  I'll  have  something  else  to 
talk  to  him  about  except  the  history  of  the  kitchen.  In 
my  home,  if  I  ever  get  one,  the  cook  will  not  be  the  star. 
Besides,  it  enlarges  life  so.  Instead  of  two  living  on  the 
wages  of  one,  two  will  live  on  the  earnings  of  two.  It 
seems  to  me  it  couldn't  help  being  a  better  and  a  happier 
way  of  living." 

Clay  blushed  vigorously  as  he  mumbled:  "What's  your 

558 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

business  woman  going  to  do  when  the — the  babies  come  ? 
Or  do  you  cut  out  the  kiddies?" 

Daphne  blushed,  too.  "Well,  I  should  think  that  the 
business  woman  could  afford  babies  better  than  anybody 
else.  She  has  to  give  up  the  housework,  anyway,  even 
when  she's  a  housekeeper.  I  suppose  she  could  give 
up  her  shop  for  a  while.  At  least  she  could  share 
the  expense — or  her  husband  could  stand  the  bills  since 
he  escapes  the  pain.  I  tell  you,  if  I  ever  had  a 
daughter  I'd  make  her  learn  her  own  trade  if  she 
never  learned  anything  else.  I'd  never  raise  her  to 
the  hideous,  indecent  belief  that  the  world  owes  her  a 
living  and  she's  got  a  right  to  squeeze  it  out  of  the 
heart's  blood  of  some  hard-working  man.  No,  sirree! 
It  may  be  old-fashioned,  but  it  isn't  decent,  and  it 
isn't  even  romantic.  The  love  of  two  free  souls,  with 
their  own  careers  and  their  own  expenses,  seems  to  me 
about  the  best  kind  of  love  there  could  be.  Then  both 
of  them  can  come  home  evenings  and  their  home  will 
be  a  home,  a  fresh,  sweet  meeting-place." 

Clay  breathed  hard.  He  was  silenced,  but  not  con- 
vinced— beyond  being  convinced  that  Daphne  Kip  was 
still  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him,  in  spite  of  her 
cantankerous  notions.  Still,  of  course,  a  woman  had  to 
have  some  flaw  or  she  would  not  be  human.  Daphne's 
foible  was  as  harmless  as  any  one's,  perhaps.  So  he 
blurted  out: 

' '  I  suppose  you've  given  up  all  thought  of  marrying  me  ?" 

She  answered  him,  with  a  pious  earnestness:  "I've 
never  given  up  that  thought,  Clay.  I've  been  trying  to 
make  myself  worthy  of  the  happiness  it  would  mean.  I 
have  had  the  trousseau  all  made,  and  paid  for,  for  a  long 
while.  That's  what  I  came  to  town  for  originally — our 
trousseau.  But  when  I  saw  how  much  sacrifice  it  meant 
for  my  poor  old  father  and  what  a  bundle  of  bills  I'd  be 
dumping  on  my  poor  young  lover,  I  couldn't  see  the  good 
of  it.  So  I  took  my  vow  that  I  wouldn't  get  a  trousseau 

559 


THE  THIRTEENTH  COMMANDMENT 

till  I  could  earn  the  price  of  it  myself.  And  now  I've 
earned  the  price  and  I've  got  it.  But  I've  lost  my  excuse 
for  wearing  it. 

"Still,  I'd  probably  have  lost  you,  anyway,  or  ruined 
you  if  I  had  brought  you  my  old  ideas.  Everybody  always 
says  that  money  is  the  enemy  of  love.  I  wonder  if  it 
couldn't  be  made  the  friend.  It  would  be  an  interesting 
experiment,  anyway." 

If  she  were  a  miser  and  a  business  woman  the  role  was  as 
becoming  to  her  surely  as  the  more  familiar  role  of  spend- 
thrift and  graf tress.  She  was  so  wistful,  so  dreamy-eyed, 
so  very  loveworthy  that  Clay  put  out  his  arms  and 
groaned  with  a  big  happiness: 

"Daphne  honey,  let's  try  the  experiment." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  heavenly  smile  in  her  eyes, 
and  answered,  "Let's." 

He  moved  toward  her,  but  she  dodged  behind  the 
counter.  She  studied  him  a  moment,  then  reached 
below  the  counter.  A  bell  rang  and  a  drawer  slid  out. 
She  took  some  bills  from  it,  made  a  memorandum  on  a 
slip  of  paper,  and  put  that  in  the  place  of  the  bills,  closed 
the  drawer,  and  leaned  across  the  counter,  murmuring: 

"They  say  all  successful  businesses  are  begun  on  bor- 
rowed money.  So  I'll  borrow  this  from  the  firm — for  luck. ' ' 

She  put  out  her  hand.  Clay  put  out  his.  -She  laid 
three  dollars  on  his  palm  and  closed  his  fingers  on  them. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  asked,  all  mystified.  She  ex- 
plained. 

"A  plain  gold  band,  costs  about  six  dollars,  and 
that's  for  my  half  of  the  partnership.  Women  are 
wearing  their  wedding-rings  very  light  nowadays." 

"I  should  say  so!"  Clay  groaned,  but  with  a  smile. 

She  bent  forward  and  he  bent  forward  and  their  lips 
met.  She  was  only  a  saleswoman  selling  a  customer  part 
of  a  heart  for  part  of  a  heart,  but  to  Clay  the  very  counter 
was  the  golden  bar  of  heaven,  and  Daphne  tfce  Blessed 
Damozel  that  leaned  on  it  and  made  it  warm. 


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